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of aertral of the 

KXTROAbMV; 
the contents of the 




ELEMENTS 



OF 

SELF-KNOWLEDGE s 

INTENDED TO LEAD YOUTH 

INTO AN EARLY ACQUAINTANCE WITH 

THE JV*4TURE OF M^Jf, 

EY AN 

ANATOMICAL DISPLAY OF THE HUMAN FRAME, 

A CONCISE VIEW OF THE 

MENTAL FACULTIES, 

AND AN INQUIRY INTO THE GENUINE NATURE OF THE 

PASSIONS. 



COMPILED, ARRANGED, AND PARTLY WRITTEN, 

By K. C. DALLAS, Esq, 



I\«9t 2sxvrov» 



L N D ON: 

ITED FOR MURRAY AND HIGHLEY, FLEET STREET 

1802, 



vA 



U 1 51 
3)3 



43 



d by S . Kousst.ai-. r\ 

Wood Sirea I v 



TO 

MATTHIAS WRIGHT, ESfJ). 

Dear Sir, 

^Writers are guided in their 
Dedications by various motives : the hope 
of patronage, the glow of affe&ion, the 
incitement of gratitude. I am induced to 
trull the patronage of this volume to the 
public at large by the utility it pro- 
mifes, and to indulge my mind in yielding 
to the two latter motives. As long as I 
retain the faculty of remembrance, I can 
never forget how great a portion of my 
time you converted from gloom and unhap- 
pinefs to the cheering comforts of domeftic 
enjoyments. This remembrance, however, 
docs not fatisfy my gratitude and affection, 
I wifh to tranfmit my feelings to my chil- 

a 2 dren, 



IV DEDICATION. 

dren, for whofe life I originally made this 
book, and who have participated the effects 
of jour friendfhip. This volume wiH pro- 
bably accompany them in their progrefs 
through life, and will conilantly prefent to 
their imagination two pleafmg ideas ; the 
gratitude of their father's heart, and the 
goodnefs of his friend's. 

When I thought of dedicating thefe 

pages to you, I not on]}' yielded to m\ 
feelings, but law the propriety of it in 
another view. It is true, that they are 
intended for young learners, and are but 
the rudiments of the know ledge they pro- 
pofe : yet the father who has the happi- 
nefs of having before his eyes a child fiic- 
ceisfully palling into that ftage of life in 
which learning advances to action, happily 
evincing a heart, and a head already well 

formed, 



DEDICATION. V 

formed, and early meriting and receiving 
public honours, cannot review thefe Ele- 
ments without pleafure, and to no man 
can they be with more propriety dedi- 
cated. May you long enjoy the happi- 
nefs you deferve, and may this fmall mark 
of efteem and gratitude be productive of 
pleafing recollections to your mind, 

I am, 

Dear Sir, 

Tour affectionate Servant, 

Y 

R. C. DALLAS. 

Dec. 5, 1801. 



PREFACE. 



( ni ) 



PREFACE. 



1 HE obje&s of this publication are fo 
fully ftated in the title page that I have 
little to add in that refped:, My purpofe 
was to colledl in one volume a considera- 
ble degree of knowledge relating to the na- 
ture of man, for the ijiftrucftion of youth, 
and of fuch perfons as have not leifure to 
purfue thefe interesting and ufeful ftudies 
at large. The fubje&s are of the higheft im- 
portance to thinking beings, and I hope I 
have fo arranged them as to imprefs them 
in an agreeable manner upon the miud. 

In drawing out the firft part I was a 
little alarmed at the Nomenclature of Ana- 
tomy, fearing it might be thought not 
adapted to the ladies, to whom I equally 
wiihed to render the volume acceptable : 

a 4 but 



Vlll PREFACE. 



but I was encouraged on recollecting the 
fcientiiic terms of one of their favourite ftu- 
dies, and my alarm fubfided, when reafoti 
allured me that the fame words could 
not be more difficult in one fcience than in 
another. As young ladies have not been 
afraid to encounter with Clavicula, Can- 
dida, Fauces, Cuspidatam, Enstformis, 
Deltoides, Medulla, &c. in their ltudy of 
vegetative bodies, they may boldly venture 
upon the ftudy of her own animated ones, 
for they w T ill only meet fuch and fimilar 
terms. 

The fair may have another objection to 
Anatomy, which is, that it is of a difguft- 
ing nature ; and fo indeed it would be to 
them were it ftudied practically, but the 
knowledge gained by words has not fuch 
digufting effecls. The ftudy of their inte- 
rior ftruclure will never injure their out- 
ward form. Their fmiles will not be the 
lels enchanting that they know the nature 
of their lips, nor the grace of their fhape be 
injured by a knowledge of the prop- work 



PREFACE, IX 

that fupports it: and I cannot but think lhat 
it will prove at leaft as intereftingto them to 
be acquainted with their own fine eyes,, as 
with any Gymnospermtan nettle in the 
hedges. I promife that they fliall find no 
indelicacy to offend modefty ; and on the 
other hand, I proteft againft that fqueam 
ifhnefs which fickens at the mention c 
mufcles, nerves; veins, &c. and which prefers 
ignorance to ftrengh of mind. This part, 
however, is but fhort, and intended more to 
give general ideas, than to purfue minute in- 
veftigations, and a Gloflary of the technical 
terms ufed in it is prefixed, except the Muf- 
cles, which are explained in the Table given 
of them. One hint may not be amifs 
here : knowledge and pedantry are perfectly 
diftin&. Terms of art muft be ufed to con- 
vey the former, but the female w T ho fhall in- 
troduce them into converfation will hardly 
efcape a charge of the latter. Let her get 
acquainted with her heart, and fhe may ven- 
ture to talk of its expanfion, but flie muft 

never 



PUEFACEi 



\ 



\ 



never form her tongue to the pronunciation 
of its diaftole and fyftole. 

I think it neceffary here to Hate what 
to fome may appear an omiffion. When 
Hunter wrote, the office of the lungs was 
unknown, as we fhallfee in page 14 of this 
volume, but the late improvements in che- 
rniftry have developed the nature and necef- 
fity of refpiration. " In the lungs the blood 
comes into contact with atmofpheric air, 
and work many chemical alterations in 
it. It is in the lung* that the dark 
blood, throwing off attenuated char- 
coal, forms with the vita: air of the atmof- 
phere, fixed air. It is in the lungs that 
the purple blood parts with its hydrogen, 
which uniting with the vital air, forms the 
h$md vapour that ilTues from the mouth. 
And it is in the lungs that the purple blood, 
having thrown off hydrogen and charcoal, 
imliles the vital air, which changes its co- 
lour to a brilliant red, rendering it the fpur 
to the a&ioii of the heart and arteries, the 

fource 



PREFACE* x.i 

fource of animal heat, and the caufes of feu- 
Ability, irritability, and motion." 

This paflage is taken from the inge- 
jiious work intitled, Medical Extracts, 
in which the proofs of the doctrine 
are ftated. The knowledge of it will but 
render the ingenuity of the reafoning in 
chapter IX. the more interefting: I fliould 
perhaps have introduced it in that place, 
but as the fyftem is novel, it will, I hope, 
be thought fufficient that I mention it 
here. 

Having announced this volume as a 
compilation, and claiming no praife but 
what may be due to the hope of being ufe- 
ful, I might ftand difcharged of any obli- 
gation to mention the fources from which I 
have drawn; but as the knowledge of them 
mull be productive of recommendation from 
all acquainted with them, it is a duty I owe 
to the intereft of the publilhers to mention 
the names of Chefelden, Hunter, Watts, 
Burlamaqui, and Adam Smith. I have dared 
to interweave a fmall treatife of my own : 

if 



SIS PREFACE: 



if Critics Ifcall ealily deted it by its com- 
parative feebienefs, I trail they will ftill al- 
lojvv its tendency to my object, and that 
ifreir penetration will be no obftacle to its 



CONTEXTS 



( *m ) 

CONTENTS. 

PART L 

Anatomical Difplay of the Human Frame. 

Page. 
Introduction — — — — — — 1 

Chap. I. The Necejfity for the Variety of 

Parts in the Body — — 7 

Chap. II. Of the Brain — — — 1& 

Chap. III. Of the Organs of Senfe — 20 

Chap. IV. Of tlie Nerves, or Organs of 

Communication with the 

Brain — — — — 3g 

Chap. V. \jf f ne Inflruments of Motion, 

Mufcles, and Tendons — 42 
Chap. VI. Of the Prop- work • Bones% 

Ligaments, Cartilages — -, 60 
Chap. VII. Of the External Parts, com- 
mon Integuments, and Fat yd 
Chap. VIII. Of the Membranes — — • 81 
Chap. IX. Of the Organs of Speech; 

Lungs, Refpiration — 84 

Chap. X. Of the Blood, the Heart, 

Arteries, Feins — — g\ 



Cha 



XIV CONTENTS. 



Page. 





Chap. XL Of the Glands and Excretory 

Duels — — — — lOQ 

Chap. XII. Of the Converfwn of Food 
into Blood : Maftication, the 
Salivary Glands, the Duc- 
tus Aliment ah >, Digrfion, 
Formation of Chyle , and the 
Organs conducive to it — 112 

Chap. XIII. Of contimung the Species 127 

PART II. 

Conciic View of the Menu:! Faculti 

Chap. 1. General 

Advantage of An,: 
Chap. II. Of P ~» — 

Chap. Ill 

— — 141 
Chat. IV. 

- 
Cn.vv " v 

i Of th$ Imagi — — i4g 

\ li f thr Compat 
Of the Difo 
Chap. IX. Of the Abfira, ■ — 

X. Of 
lp. XI. Of the — 

Ch u\ XII. Of the Jtu [j — 10! 

Ch 



CONTENTS. XV 

Page* 

Chap. XIII. Of the Inventing Faculty 163 

Chap. XIV. Of the Faculty of Volition 1 65 

Chap. XV. Of the Deftgning Faculty J 69 

Chap, XVI. Of the Forefeeing Faculty 170 

Chap. XVII. Of Liberty ' — ~ — 171 

Chap. XVIII. Of Confcience — — 192 

Chap. XIX. Of Immortality — — 205 

PART III. 

,An Enquiry into the Genuine Nature of the 
Paffions. 

Introductory Obfervations, with a Table of 

the Paffions Analyzed . — 241 
Chap. I. Ambition-, its Varieties and De~ 

viations — — — — 246 
Chap. II. Anger, its Varieties a?id Devi- 
ations — — — ~ 291 
Chap. III. Antipathy, its Varieties and 

Deviations — — — 300 
Chap. IV. Curiofity, its Varieties and 

Deviations -■- — — 304 
Chap. V. Fear, its Varieties and Devia- 
tions — — — — 306 
Chap. VI. Hope, its Varieties and Devi- 
ations — — ■ — — 3J3 
Chap. VII. Joy, its Varieties and Devia- 
tions — ~ ~ - — 315 

Chap. 



X vi CONTENTS. 

Page-. 

Chap. VIII. Love, its Varieties and De- 
viations — — — — 319 

Chap. IX. Sha?ne, its Varieties and De- 
viations — — — — 359 

Cha.p. X. Sorrow, hs Varieties and De- 
viations — — — — 36l 

Chap. XL Sympathy, including Pity and 

Terror — — — — 365 

Chap. XII. Wonder, and its Varieties 3/8 

Chap. XIII. Of the Degrees of the <:: 

rent Pajfions which are 
confident « iih Proj 380 

Chap. XIV. Of 'Self-Command — — 413 
Conclnfion — — — 462 



ANA 



( xvii ) 



ANATOMICAL GLOSSARY. 



ABDOMEN, Lat from abdo to hide ; as it 
conceals the vifcera. 

Abductor. Lat. from ah from, and ditco to draw. 
A name given to mufcles which pull back the 
parts of the body where they are inferted. 

Adductor. Lat. from ad to, and dnco to draw. 
Mufcles that bring forward or draw together the 
parts to which they are annexed. 

Adipofa. Lat. from adeps fat. The adipofe 
membrane. 

Aggregate glands. Lat. from aggrego to aflemble. 

Alae. Lat. Ala^ a wing. It is frequently ap- 
plied to parts that have any refemblance to 
wings. 

Amphiarthrofls. Greek, from &fi(pi both, and 
OipvptiVlQ) articulation. It means a certain 
connexion of bones, admitting an obfcure 
motion. 

Anafarca. Greek, avoc though, and (TOi'pi; flefh, 

A fort of dropiy. 
Anatomy. Greek. OtVCtTO[AlQC : from CCVCC, and 

rzyjoo to cut up. 

b Anchy- 



XVlll ANATOMICAL GLOSSARY. 

Anchylofis. Greek. OLyxv'kGU.QU to bend. The- 

uniting of bones. 
Antagonift. Greek. qlv\i againft, and ayxvify:, 

to ffcriye. Mufcles, that act in oppofition to 

others are fo called. 
Aorta. Greek. otopTY}, literally a vefTel. The 

great artery of the body. 
Apex. Lat. The pointed extremity of a part. 
Aranea. Lat. a fine web, covering the chry- 

ftalline humour of the eye. 
Articulation. Lat. Articulation The juncture of 

bones. 
Arteria emulgens dextra. Lat. The right emul- 

gent artery. 
Afpera arteria. Lat. The windpipe, called alio 

Trachea. 
Attolens. Lat. From altolh to lift up. 
Auricles. Lat. From auricula the ear. The 

cavities at the bafe of the heart fo called from a 

refemblance to the ear. 
Auditorius. Lat, from audio to hear. See Me i 
Axilla. Lat. The armpit. 
Axillary. Lat. Palling the armpit. 
Axis. Lat. the quiefcent right line of a veffi 

equal diilancc from the fides. 
Azygos. Greek, d^vyc;, without a fellow. A 

vein branching from the Cava. 
Balilica. Greek. fioKTlXUCQg royal. 
Balis. When in applied to the heart, 

Bafis 



ANATOMICAL GLOSSARY. XIX 

Bails is the upper and broader part of it, oppo- 

11 te to the mucro or pointed end, confidering it 

as an inverted con-e. 
Biceps. Lat. Having two heads. 
Bi venter. Lat. Two bellied mufcles. 
Bronchos* Greek, @(>oyyp$, the throat. 
Caecum. Lat. caecum, blind : fo called from 

being open only at one end. It is fuppofed by 

fome to perform a further digeftion, feparating 

more chyle. 
Callus. Lat. A hard fwelling without pain. 
Canalis. Lat. A canal : as canalis arteriofus, a 

paffage to the aorta* 
Canini. Lat. cards a dog ; the dog-teeth. 
Capillary. Lat. capittus, a little hair. Very {len- 
der veffels. 
Cardia, Greek. XOlgoiX, the heart, now applied. 

to the left and fuperior opening of the ftornach. 
Carotid. Greek, xokpog, fleep : arteries fuppofed 

to be concerned in fleep. 
Carpus. Greek. XXPftOQ, the wrifh 
Cartilage. Lat. carlilago, griftle* 
Caruncle. Lat. A fmall flefhy excrefcence. 
Cava. Lat. The great vein that returns the 

blood, into the left auricle of the heart. 
Cephalica. Greek, from xetpctXYj the head. 
CeratagloiTus. Greek. KcPOLQ a horn, and yXtoCtffX 

the tongue ; a mufcle of the tongue, in ihape 

of a horn. 
Cerebrum. Lat. the brain. 

b 2 Cere- 



xx anatomical glossary. 

Cerebellum. Lat. dim. The little brain. 

Cerumen. Lat. wax. 

Cervicales. Lat. cervix, the hind part of the 

neck : appertaining to the neck. 
Choledochus. Greek. %oA>3, bile, and $zyj[A0U, 
to receive : — the common biliary duel is called 
Ductus communis choledochus. 
Chorda. Lat. a firing. 

Choroides. Greek, of a twilled fhape or fold. 
Chyle. Greek. yvXoc, juice. The nutritious 

juice into which food is converted. 
Ciliares, Lat. from ahum, the eye-lid. 
Clavicle. Lat. clavicula. The collar bone. 
Cochlea. Greek. Koy^XlOLQ, a fpiral fhell : a 

cavity of the ear. 
Cceliac. Greek. XOfalGL, the belly ; an artery i'o 

named from its pofition. 
Colon. Greek. KtthQV, from XWAVto to hinder. 
One of the interlines, having a valve to prevent 
the faeces returning to the Ilium. 
Columniso. Lat. pillafs of trie heart. 
Cornea. Lat. horny. See Sclerc. 
Coronaria? cordis. Lat. from & na> a crown 

cor } the heart. 
Corpora. Lat. bodies. 
Coitae. Lat. the ribs. 
Chryftaline. Lat. glai 
Cruralis. Lat. from cms the leg. 
Cubitus. Lat. cubitus^ the arm, from 



ANATOMICAL GLOSSARY. XXI 

lie down, becaufe the ancients ufed to lie down 

on that part at their meals. 
Cuticula. Lat. The fcarf ildn : dim. from cutis. 
Cutis. Lat. The true fkin. 
Cylticus. Greek, xvcrjic* a bladder, a duel from 

the gall bladder. 
Conglobate. Lat. like a ball. 
Conglomerate. Lat. heaped together. 
Conjunctiva. Lat. A fmooth membrane lining 

the inlide of the eyelids, and joining the globe 

edges of the orbit ; it fpreads over the forepart 

of the globe, and is vulgularly called there 

the white of the eye. 
Compages. Lat. a collection of (lender bodies 

clofely united. 
Deltoides. Greek. S'sXtoc the letter A, and £l$0S 

likenefs ; a mufcle of that fhape. 
Diaphragm. Greek, from oioc$goicro'(t) 9 to hedge 

or wall in. 
Dentes fapientes. Lat. the teeth ofwifdom. 
Diarthrosis. Greek. JW^OW, to articulate ; a 

moveable connexion of bones. 
Diaftole. Greek, from (5/ a with, and (JTzXXoo 

to ftretch. The dilatajtion of the heart and 

arteries. 
Digitus. Lat. a finger; 
Dorfum. Lat. the back. 
Ductus. Lat. a duct, or canal ; as Ductus ali- 

mentalis, the pafTage of the food. See Choledo- 

chus, and Thoracicus. 

b 3 Duode- 



XXli ANATOMICAL GLOSSARY. 

Duodenum. Lat irom duodenus, co&fiftinar of 

twelve ; fo called from the lengthy being about 

12 finders breadth. 
Dura mater. Lat. from durus, hard, and mater, 

A mother : called dura, from its comparative 

hardnels with the pia mater, and mater, from its 

being fuppofed to be the fource of the other 

membranes. 
Emulgent. Lat. from emulgeo, to milk out, 

Veflels that pierce the kidneys. 
Emunctory. Lat. from emiwgo, to drain off. 
Enarthrofis. Greek, from ev in, and QLG$pcv 

a joint. The ball and locket joint. 
Encephalon. Greek. SV in, and Z3yZ?>r} the 

head. The contents of the cranium. 
Enfi formes. Lat. en/is, a fword and forma re- 

refemblance ; fhaped like a fword. 
Bpiderdmis. Greek. £7U upon, and OSgfMl the 

true ikin. The fcarf-fkin. 
Epigaftrium. Greek, STtl upon, and y%7\'r\c the 

ftomach. That part of the abdomen that lie? 

over the ftomach. 
Epiglottis. Greek, ziti and "Kyxzii; the tong 

A cartilage at the roof of the tongue. 
Epiphyfis, Greek. STtl and £>LW to. grow, 'i 

growing of one bone upon another. 
Ethmpides. Greek. S^/xcg a fieve, 2nd e. 

form. A bone of the head, fo called from it; 

l^eing perforated like a fieve, 

Exci 



ANATOMICAL GLOSSARY. XXill 

Extenfores. Lat. Applied to various mufcles 

that extend to different parts of the body. 
Externus. Lat. outer. 
Excretory. Lat. throwing off. 
Fafcia. Lat. fromfafcis,'<a bundle ; a bandage. 
Facialis. Lat. a membranous mufcle binding others 

together. 
Fafciculus. Lat, a bundle. 
Fauciales. Lat. from fauces, the jaws. Glands 

of the jaws. 
Femur, femoris. Lat. the thigh. 
Feneitra. Lat. a window. Ufed to fignify an inlet, 
Fibra. Lat. a very fine fimple filament. 
Fibula. Lat. the outer and fmaller bone of the 

leg. 
Flexors. Lat. mufcles that bend the parts where 

they are infer ted. 
Foramen. Lat. from foro to pierce. A little 

opening. 
Frontis. Lat. from, the forehead. 
Gangliorn. Greek. y&yyXiOV a knot. 
Gaftric. Greek. yOtcfJYjp the ftomach. Of the 

ftomach. 
Gingivae. Lat. the gums. 
Ginglymus. Greek. yiyyXvfiQQ a hinge. A 

hinge -like joint. 
Gland. Lat. glans a gland. 
Glandulae Miliares. Lat. fmall glands refembling 

millet. 



Olobulae. Lat. globules. 



b 4 Gluteus. 



XXIV ANATOMICAL GLOSSARY. 

Gluteus. Greek. y7\8T0Q, the buttock ; a muf- 
cle of the thigh. 

Gomphofis. Greek, from yCf/,(pOQ 3 to drive in a 
nail. The fixing of a bone in another bone 
like a nail in a board, as teeth in the fockets 
of the jaws. 

Heparicus. Greek. YjZCCp, the liver ; a canal 
from the liver to the cyfticus. 

Hepatic. Greek. Y]7T0CP, any thing belonging to 
the liver. 

Humeralis. Lat. humerus, the fhoulder ; apper- 
tain ing to the fhoulder. 

Hyoides, Greek, from the letter T, and cloOQ 
liken els ; a bone fo named from its refemblance 
to the Greek letter T. ' 

Hypochondrium. V7T0 under, and yovopog a 
cartilage. The regions on each fide of the en- 
fiformis cartilage, one containing the liver, 
and the other the fpleen. 

Hypograftrium. Greek. VZO under, and yCL<J\Y\o 
the ftomach. The lower region of the abdo- 
men. 

Ileum. Greek, from SfAsco to roll about. One 
of the interlines, lb called from its circumvolu- 
tions. 

Inguinalis* Lat. higuen, the groin ; about the 
groin. 

Innominata. Lat. without a name. Bones not, 
named in former times. 

In 



ANATOMICAL GLOSSARY. XXV 

Intercoftales. Lat. inter among, and cojla a rib. 

Situated between the ribs. 
Iris. Lat. a rainbow ; a membrane of the eye, 

fo called from the variety of its colours. 

Incus. Lat. an anvil. 

Internus. Lat. inner. 

Iter. Lat. way. As iter act palatum, the way to 
the palate. 

Jejunum. Lat. jejunus, empty. One of the in- 
terlines ufually found empty. 

Labiales. Lat. labium, a lip. The glands of 
the lips. 

Lachrymal. Lat. lachryma, a tear ; relating to 
to tears. 

Lacleals. Lat. lac, milk. Abforbent vefTels 
that convey the chyle to the Thoracic Duel:. 

Lactese primi generis. Lat. ladieals of the fir ft 

kind. 
Lacleae fecundi generis. Lat. lacteals of the 

fecond kind. 
Lamdoidal. Greek, from A and Sl$0£ refem- 

blance; a future refembling the letter A. 
Lamellae. "] 
Laming / Lat * P lates; ¥ng ^ plates. 

Larynx. Greek. Xotgwy?;, the throat. 

Lens. Lat. a glafs, or humour that throws the 

rays of virion into a focus. 
Jiinguales. Lat. lingua;, the tongue ; belong-in 2?- 

to the tongue. 

Lum- 



XXVI ANATOMICAL GLOSSARY. 

Lumbales. Lat. lumbus, the loin ; relative to the 

loins. 
Lymph. Lat. lymbha a clear fluid. 
Lymphaeduct-sl Lat. Slender pellucid tubes which 
Lymphatics j convey lymph. 

Malleus. Lat. malleus a mallet. A bone of 

the internal ear, fo called from its likenefs to a 

little hammer. 
Mamma?. The breafts. 
Maxillaris. Lat. maxilla, the jaw ; belonging 

to the jaw. 
Meatus. Lat. a pafTage. 
Materia perfpirabilis. Lat. Perfpirable matter, is 

what goes off by perforation. 
Mediaftmum. Lat. in medio Jfare ; a membrane 

dividing the cavity of the cheft. 
Medulla. Lat. marrow. 
Medulla oblongata. Lat. the part of the brain 

where begins the fpinal marrow. 
Medulla fpinalis. Lat. the fpinal marrow. 
Medullary. Lat. marrow-like fubitance. 
Mefentery. Greek. ^(JOQ middle, and SVJSfiOV 

an inteftine. A membrane to which the intef- 

tines adhere. 
Metacarpus. Greek. [XzTOC after, and xxe~c; 

the wrift. The part of the hand between the 

fingers and wrift. 
Metatarfus. Greek. [XSTX after, and TXfiCOC the 

tarfus ; the part of the foot between the tarfus 

and toes. 

Mol&res. 



ANATOMICAL GLOSSARY, XXvft 

Molares. Lat. molaris a grind done. The dou- 
ble teeth. 

Moleculas. Lat. fmall particle?. 

Mitrales, Lat. miifa, a turban; valves fo call- 
ed from their fhape. 

Muiculus. Lat. a mufcle. 

Nates. Lat. the fiefliy parts on which we fit. 

Nad. Lat. nafus, the ■ nofe. Of the nc fe. 

Ni (titans. Lat. from niclo, to wink ; a thin 
membrane which fome creatures have to cover 
their eyes — it is thin enough to be feen through* 

Obliquus. Lat. oblique. 

Occipitis. Lat. occiput % t\\e back part of the head, 

GEfophagus. Greek. QlffOQ a wicker baiket, 
which it is faid to referable, or from C/co to carry, 
and (fifty to to eat, becaufe, it carries the food 
into the ftomach. The gullet. 

Olfactory. Lat. olfaflus, the fenfe of fmelling. 

Olivaria. Lat. corpora oljvarja. Olive-like bodies. 

Omentum. Lat. the caul. 

Orbicularis. Lat. fhaped like a ring. 

Organ. Greek. OgfftVOV. An organical part is 
that part of animal and vegetable body which is 
dedgned for the performance of fome particu- 
lar action, in oppodtion to n on -organical, 
which cannot of itfelf perform an action : thus 
the organ of fight is the eye with all its parts ; 
the organ of hearing, the ear^ he, 
Os. Lat. A bone. 
Offa. Lat. bones. The plural of of. 

Gfla 



^XVlll ANATOMICAL GLOSSARY. 

Ofla innominata. Lat. unnamed bones. See In- 

n&mmatg. 
Officula auditus. Lat. the fmall bones of the 

ear. 
Oilify. Lat. to become bony. 
Palatinae. Lat. from falatuni, the.- palate ; glands 

^Ke pajate. 
Pancreas. Greek. TtdV all, and XgBOtf ftefh. A 

vifcus of the abdomen, fo called from its 

flefhy confidence. 
Papillae. Lat. the nipple. It is alfo applied to 

fine terminations of nerves. 
Parietalia, Lat. from fa ries, a wall. 
Parotis. Greek, from ^utolool about, and 8$ 

the ear ; the glands behind the ear. 
Pelvis. Lat. pelvis, a bafon. The cavity below 

the belly, containing the bladder, See. 
Penniform. Lat. penna a leather, and forma, 

fhape ; refembling a feather. 
Pericardium. Greek, from ^z^l about, and 

KOLPQIOL the heart. The membranous bag that 

mrrounds the heart. . 
Pericranium. Greek, from *urspi about, and 

XPCCVlov the cranium ; the membrane about 

the fkull. 
Periofteum. Greek, from "UTS Pi about, and CO 

a bone ; the membrane that covers the bone?. 
Periftaltic. Greek. r urzpl(j\c'k'h(j) to contract. 

The vemicular motion of the interlines, by 

which they contract and propel their contents. 

Peri- 



ANATOMICAL GLOSSARY. XXIX 

Peritoneum Greek. 'ureglTSlVW to extend round: 
the membrane that covers the vifcera. 

Phrenicoe. Greek. QgSVSC, the diaphragm, Vef~ 
fels of the diaphram. 

Pia Mater. Latin, the good mother ; a mem- 
brane fo called, becaufe it embraces the brain as 
a good mother folds her child. See Dura Mater. 

Pinealis. Lat. a fmall gland in the brain. 

Pleura. Greek. 'GThsugOt, a membrane lining the 
Thorax. 

Polypus. Greek. TtToT^VQ many, and / uT8£ a foot. 
Anatomifts give their name to fome concretions 
or blood from fome imaginary refemblance. 

Poplirea. Lat. fogies, the ham ; belonging to the 
ham. 

Primae Viae. Lat. the firft paffages. The fto- 
mach and the inteftinal tube are fo called, and 
the lacleals the ' fecunda vice, or fecond 
pafTages. 

Proceffiis. Lat. from procedo, to go before. ' 
Prominent parts of the bones and other parts 
of the body. 

Proftratce. Lat. glands of the neck of the blad- 
der. 

Pterygoides. Greek. Tzrfc-gQV a wing, and £/Jo£ 
refemblance. Wing-fhaped mulcts. 

Pulmonary. Lat. pulmo the lungs ; of the lungs. 

Punclum. Lat. a point. In the plural funcla. 

Pylorus. Greek. nrv^Yi a gate, and fitWSft to 
guard. The inferior orifice of the ftomach. 

Pyri- 



XXX ANATOMICAL -GLOSSARY* 

Pyriformis. Lat, from gyrus a pear, and forma 
a fhape. Shaped like a pear. 

Radius. Lat. a ftaff. One of the bones of the arm. 

Receptaculum Cfiyli. Lat. the receptacle of the 
chyle. 

Rectum. Lat. ftrait. An inteftine called from 
its ftrait pofition. 

Regio. Lat. region. 

Rete. Lat. a net. 

Reticulum. Lat. Net-work. 

Retina. Lat. from rete, a net. A membrane of 
the eye. 

Rotunda. Lat. round. 

Rotulae. La£. the knee-pans. 

Saccus chyliferius. Lat. faccus a bag. The 
fame as receptaculum chyli ; which iee. 

Salivary. Lat. faliva, fpittle. The glands that 
fecrete this fluid are called falivary glands. 

Saphaena. ' Greek. (JtX$r\Q vifible, the large vein 
of the leg. 

Scapula. Lat. The fhoulder blade. 

Sclerotis. Greek. (jyJhMOU* to harden. The outer- 
hard coat of the eye. 

Scrobiculus Cordis. Lat. the pit of the ftomach. 

Secretion. Lat. fccrcUo. A function by which 
different organs 3 from the blood iub- 

ftances deftined for particular ufes ; as the bile 
in the liver, faliva in the mouth, &c. 

Semilunares. Lat. fenii, half, luna the moon ; 

valves in form of a half moon. 

Sen fo- 



ANATOMICAL GLOSSARY. XXXi 

Senforium. Lat. the brain ; where the nerves 

meet and caufe fenfation. 
Septum. Lat. a partition. 
Sefamoid. Greek. (JYjO'Oif/.Y) an Indian grain, and 

Sioog likenefs. This term is applied to the little 

bones at the firft joint of the great toes, and 

thumbs, from their refemblance to the grains of 

Indian corn. 
Sigmoidoles. Greek. 2 and eioog ; valves fo called 

from their refemblance to the old Greek letter 

Sigma written as C. 
Sinus. Lat. a cavity, or depreffion. 
Skeleton. Greek. OTteAAw, to dry. When the 

bones of the body are preferved in their natural 

fituation, and deprived, of the flefh, the aflem- 

blage is called, a fkeleton. 
Sphenoides. Greek. CT<P'/JV a wedge, and 6100$ 

likenefs. Wedge-fhaped bones. 
Sphincter. Greek. crQiyfa to fhut up. The 

name of mufcles whofe office is to dole the ap- 

perture around which they are placed. < 
Spine. Lat. fpina, a thorn ; fo called from the 

procefTors of the vertebrae. 
Stapes. Lat. a ftirrup ; refembling a ftirrnp. 
Sternum. Lat. the bread bone. 
Subclavian. Lat. from fub under, and clavis 

a key, becaufe the clavicles were fuppofed to 

refemble the key of the ancients. The arteries 

nerves, &c. under the collar bone. 

Sublin- 



XXXll ANATOMICAL OLOSSAfttf. 

Sublinguales. Lat. from fub under, and lingua 

the tongue ; glands under the tongue. 
Suture. Lat. futura a joining ; the union of 

bones in a dentiform manner. See Lamdoicial. 
Synarthrofis. Greek. CVV together, and apftpcv 

a joint. 
Synchondrofis. Greek, orvv together, and yovSoOQ 

a cartilage. 
Syrlole. Greek, from cyofeXAw, to contract. The 

contraction of the heart. 
Tarfus. Greek. T0tg(T0£, a part of the foot. 
Temporum. Lat. of the temples. 
Tendon. Lat. from tendo to ftretch. The white 

and glittering extremity of a mufcle. 
Teres umbilicale. Lat. teres long and round, 

umbilicus the navel. A ligament at the navel. 
Thoracicus, Greek, from vwja^. The thoracic 

duel, fo called from afcending the thorax. 
Thorax. Greek. d"00£>a£, from SttPSX to leap, be- 

cauie the heart leaps in it. The cheft. 
Thymus. Greek. §VflOL 9 an odour, a gland fo 

called from its fragrant fmell. 
Thyroidae. Greek. $vpO£ a fhield, and GIOOC re- 

femblance. A cartilage of the throat refem. 

blino; a fliield. 

» 

Tibia. Lat. tibia, a pipe or flute. A bone ofthe leg. 
Tonfillse. Lat. glands at the bafis ofthe tongue : 
the almonds. 

Trachea. Greek, from TsayoQ rough. The 
-wind- pipe. 

Trephina 



ANATOMICAL GLOSSARV. Xxxiii 

Trephina or Trepan. Greek. TgvtpOiVOV, from 

TpV7T0tto to bore. An inftrument to pierce 

bone. 
Tricufpides. Lat. three -pointed. 
Triquetra. Lat. triangular. 
Trochanter. Greek, from Tpsyja to run. Two 

procefTes of the thigh bone. 
Trochlearis. Greek. TgoyJKlX a pulley, As if 

drawn by a pulley. 
Tuberculum Loweri. Lat. an eminence of the 

heart, firfr. noticed by Dr. Lower. 
Tunica. Lat. a coat, or covering. 
Tympanum. Greek- TV(l7r0CV0V a drum. The 

drum of the ear. 
Ulna. Greek.- toAey)] the ulna, or cubit ; a bone 

of the arm. See Gubit. 
Umbilicalis. Lat. of the navel. 
Unguis. Lat. the nails. 
Uvea. Lai. uva a grape. A coat of the eye. 

It is fo called from its refemblance in beafts to 

to unripe grapes. 
TJvulares. Lat. glands of the uvula. 
Uvula. Lat. uvula, dim. of uva a grape. The 

fmall conical fleftiy fubftance over the root of 

the tongue. 
Vaginalis Gulae. Lat. the cafe or fheath of the 

gullet. 
Vafcular. Lat. from vas a veffel. Confuting of 

vefTels. 
Vena porttc. Lat. vena, a vein, and porto to 

c ' carry 



£>:xiv ANATOMICAL GLOSSAjRy. 

carry ; the great vein at the entrance of the liver> 
which carries the blood into it. 

Vena line pari; Lat. the vein without a compa- 
nion : the fame as azygos ; which fee. 

Venter, Lat. the cavity of the belly. 

Ventricles. Lat. from venter ; cavities of the heart 
and brain* 

Ventriculus. Lat. the ftomach. 

Vermiform. Lat* vermis, a worm, and forma 
fhape ; refembling the contortions of worms. 

Vertebrae. Lat. from verto to turn ; the bones of 
the fpine. 

Vcfica. Lat. dim. of vas a vefTel ; the blad- 
der : a mufcular fack fituated in the cavity of 
the pelvis, to receive the urine from the 
kidneys. 

Veficles. Lat. fmall bladders. 

Veftigium. Lat. the track. 

Veftibulum. Lat. an entrance. 

Via lactea. Lat. via way, and lofted lacteal: 
The receptable of the chyle. 

Villofa. Lat. fhaggy. 

r Lat. vifcus, the bowels ; it is ge- 

Vilcus. I nerally applied to all thofe organs 

Vilcera. 1 of life, fituated in the thorax and 

L abdomen. 

Vitrious. Lat. vifrum, glafs ; glafTy. 

Vomer. Lat. a plough -ihare ; a bone of the nofc 
ib called from its reiemblance. 

ELEMENTS 



ELEMENTS 

OF 

SELF-KNOWLEDGE, 

PART I. 
ANATOMICAL DISPLAY 

OF THE 

HUMAN FRAME.' 



INTRODUCTION. 

JL HE defign of this treatife being to give 
youth jufl notions refpe6ting their corporeal 
frame, and the ftructure of their mind, I mall 
fet out with a concife definition of our fpecies, 
as given by a very learned and amiable philo- 
fopher, whofe writings on the principles of 
natural law have been univerfally received 
on the claiiic fhelf. 

A human creature is an animal endowed 
with underftanding and reafon ; a being ccra- 
pofed of an organized body, and a rational foul. 

With regard to his body he is pretty fimi- 
lar to other animals, having the lame organs, 

B properties, 



2 INTRODUCTION. [PART I, 

properties, and wants. It is a living body, 
organized, and compofed of feveral parts ; a 
body that moves of itfelf, and, feeble in the 
commencement, increafes gradually in its pro- 
grefs by the help of nouriihment, till it ar- 
rives to a certain period, in which it appears 
in its flower and vigour, whence it infenfibly 
declines to old age, which conduces it at 
' length to diffolution. This is the ordinary 
courfe of human life, unlefs it happens to be 
abridged either by malady or accident. 

With regard to his foul, he is eminently 
diftinguifhed from other animals. It is by 
this noble part that he thinks, and is capable 
of forming juft ideas of the different objects 
that occur to him ; of comparing them toge- 
ther ; of inferring from known principles un- 
known truths ; of paffing a folid judgment 
on the mutual agreement of things, as well 
as on the relations they bear to us ; of delibe- 
rating on wdiat is proper or improper to be 
done ; and of determining confequently to act 
one way or other. The mind recollects what 
is pan:, joins it with the prefent, and extends 
its views to futurity. It is capable of pene- 
trating into the caufes, progrefs, and confe- 
quence of things, and of difcovering, as it 

. were. 



*ART I.] INTRODUCTION. 3 

were, at one glance, the entire courfe of life, 
which enables it to lay in a ftore of fuch 
things as are neceffary for making a happy ca- 
reer. Befides, in all this, it is not fubject to 
a conftant feries of uniform and invariable ope- 
rations, but finds itfelf at liberty to act or not 
to act, to fufpend its actions and motions, and 
to direct and manage them as it thinks proper. 
Such is the general idea we are to form of 
the nature of man ; of that being of the fpe- 
cies of which we are individuals, and which 
we are now to analyze more particularly, in 
order to ground us iri the molt ufeful of fci- 
ences, felf-knowledge. 

In treating both of the body and of the 
mind I mall adopt the analytical method, be- 
caufe I confider the underftanding of my 
readers to be fufficiently mature to compre- 
hend a whole and its parts, and becaufe it is 
the method nature herfelf prefcribes for invefti- 
gating her works. 

To begin then with the corporeal frame ; 
an animal body is a compages of veffels, vari- 
oufly difpofed to form certain parts of different 
figures, for different ufes. 

It has been difcovered by the affiftance of 

glaffes that all the parts of the body exift in 

B 2 miniature 



4 INTRODUCTION. [PART 5. 

miniature from the earlieft formation that can 
he traced, and that the encreafe of thofe parts 
is only the extenfion and thickening of their 
veffels, and that no part owes its exiftence to 
another : the two moft effential ones, howe- 
ver, are the brain and the heart. 

The conftituent parts of the animal body 
are, fibres, membranes, arteries, veins, lym- 
phaeducls, nerves, glands, excretory veffels, 
mufclcs, tendons, ligaments, cartilages, and 
bones ; to thefe may be added the hair and 
nails, though they feem to ha^ e only a vege- 
tative kind of life. 

Fibres, as they appear to the naked eye, are 
fimplc threads of the minuteft blood veffels* 
which enter into the composition of every part. 

Membranes, are formed by a compact union 
of fibres, and are expanded to cover, or line 
any other part. 

Arteries, are tubes that arife in two trunks 
from two cavities in the heart, called the ven- 
tricles of it, and thence dividing into branches, 
diftribute the blood to every part of the body. 

Ve'uis, are tubes to return the blood from 
the extremities of the arteries to the heart. 

hymphczdutts, are pellucid tubes to carry 
lymph from all parts, especially the glands, 
which they difcharge into the larger veins, and 

into 



PART I.] INTRODUCTION. 5 

into the lacteal veflels, vafa laffea, which we 
fhall fee are thofe that convey the fluid from 
the digefted aliment called chyle. 

Nerves, are bundles of cylindrical fibres, 
which arife in the brain and ipinal marrow, 
and terminate in ajl the fenfitive parts. They 
are the immediate organs of fenfation. 

A gland, is a fmooth fubftance, compofed 
of an artery, vein, lymphatic, excretory duel, 
and nerve. The ufe of glands is to fecrete 
fluids from the blood for feveral ufes. 

ILxcretory vefjels, are either tubes from 
glands to convey the fecreted fluids to their re- 
fpective places, or veflels from the fmall guts, 
to carry the chyle to the blood veflels : thefe 
laft are the lacteals, called vafa laftea. 

Mufcles, are diftinct portions of flelh, made 
up of a number of fmall fibres, which, by 
contracting, perform the motions of the body. 

Tendons, are the fame fibres of which the 
mufcles are compofed ; but white and more 
clofely connected, that they may poflfefc lefs 
fpace in a limb, and be inferted in lefs room 
into a bone. 

Ligaments, are, ftrong membranes, or bo- 
dies of fibres clofely united, cither to bind 
down the tendons, or give origin to the 

B 3 mufcle. 



6 INTRODUCTION. [PART I. 

mufcle, or tie together fuch bones as have 
motion. 

Cartilages, or griftles, are hard, elaftic bo- 
dies, fmooth and infenfible : their ufe is to co- 
ver the ends of the bones that have motion, to 
prevent their attrition, &c. 

Bones, originally compofed of foft fibres, 
are firm parts to fuftain, and give fliape to the 
body. 

The hair and nails, are well known : the 
former feems to be nourifhed from the perfpi- 
rable matter, and the latter from a mucus be- 
tween the outer and lower fkin, contained in 
the reticulum mucoium. 



*£$* 



CHAPTER 



( 7 ) 



CHAPTER I. 

The NeceJJity for the Variety of Parts in the 

Body. 

3l OR what purpofe is there fuch a variety of 
parts in the human body ? Why fuch a compli- 
cation of nice and tender machinery ? Why was 
there not rather a more fimple, lefs delicate, and 
lefs expensive frame ? That beginners in the fiudy 
of anatomy may acquire a fat is factory and gene- 
ral idea of their fubjec% we fhall furnifh them 
with clear anfwers to all fuch queftions. Let us 
then, in our imagination, make a man : in other 
words, let us fuppofe that the mind, or immate- 
rial part, is to be placed in a corporeal fabric, to 
hold correfpondence with other ^aterial beings 
by the intervention of the body : and then confi- 
der, a priori, what will be wanted for her accom- 
modation. In this enquiry we fhall plainly fee 
the neceffity or advantage, and therefore, the fi- 
nal caufe of mofl of the parts which we actually 
find in the human body. And if we conlider, 
thlt, in order to anfwer fome of the requifites, hu- 
man wit and invention would be very inmfficient, 
we need not be furprifed if we meet with fome 

B 1 parts 



8 THE NECESSITY FOR THE [PART I. 

parts of the human body, the ufe of which wc can- 
riot yet make out, and fome operations or functions 
which we cannot explain. We can fee, and com- 
prehend^ th?! f :the whole bears the ftrongeft charac- 
ters of excelling wifdom and ingenuity: but the 
imperfect fenfes and capacity of man cannot pre- 
tend to reach every part of a machine, which no- 
thing lefs than the intelligence and power of the 
Supreme Being could contrive and execute. To 
proceed, then : — 

In the flrft place ; the mind, the thinking, im- 
material agent, muft be provided with a place of 
immediate refidence, which fhall have all the re- 
quifites for the union of fpirit and body : accord- 
ingly, flie is provided with the brain, where 
fhe dwells as governefs and fuperintendent of the 
whole fabric. 

In the fecond place ; as fhc is to hold a cor- 
respondence with all the material beings which 
furround her, fhe muft be iupplied with organs 
fitted to receiv% the different kind of impreiTions 
that they will make. In fa 61, therefore, we fee 
that fhe is provided with the organs of fenfe, as 
we call them : the eye is adapted to light ; the 
car to found ; the nofe to fmell ; the mouth to 
tafte ; and the fkin to touch. 

In the third place ; ihe muft be provided with 
organs of communication between herfelf, in me 
brain, and thofe organs of fenfe, to give her in- 
formation of all the impreflions that are inadAip- 

on 



PART I.] VARIETY OF PARTS IN THE BODY. 

on them ; and fhe muft have organs between her- 
felf, in the brain, and every other part of the 
body, fitted to convey her commands and influ- 
ence over the whole. For thefe purpofes the 
nerves are actually given. They are chords which 
arife from the brain, the immediate refidence of 
the mind, and difperfe themfelvcs in branches 
through all parts of the body. They convey all 
the different kinds of fen fa lion to the mind, in 
the brain ; and likewife carry out from thence all 
her commands or influence to the other parts of 
the body. They are intended to be occafional 
monitors againft all fuch impreflions as might en- 
danger the well-being of the whole, or of any 
particular part ; which vindicates the Creator of 
all things in having actually fubjected us to thofe 
many difagreeable and painful fenfations which 
we are expofed to from a thoufand accidents in 
life. 

Further: the mind, in this corporeal fyftern mull 
be endued with the power of moving from place to 
place, that fhe may have intercourfe with a vari- 
ety of objects ; that fhe may fly from fuch as are 
difagreeable, dangerous, or hurtful; and purfue 
fuch as are pleafant or ufcful to her : and accord- 
ingly, flie is furniflied with limbs, and with muf- 
cles and tendons, the inflruments of motion, which 
are found in every part of the fabric where motion 
is nccefTary. 

But to fupport ; to give firmnefs and fhape to the 

fabric ; 



10 THE NECESSITY FOR THE [PART I, 

fabric ; to keep the fofter parts in their proper 
places ; to give fixed points for, and proper direc- 
tions to, its motions ; as well as to protect fome 
of the more important and tender organs from ex- 
ternal injuries ; — there mini be fome firm prop- 
work interwoven through the whole ; and, in 
fact, for fuch purpofes the bones are intended. 

The prop-work muft not be made into one 
rigid fabric, for that would prevent motion ; 
therefore, there are a number of bones. Thefe 
pieces muft be firmly bound together to prevent 
their diflocation ; and, in fact, this end is per- 
fectly well anfwered by the ligaments. 

The extremities of thefe bony pieces, where 
they move, and rub upon one another, mull 
have fmooth and flippery furfaces, for eafy mo- 
tion : this is moil happily provided for, by the 
cartilages and mucus of the joints. 

The interfaces of all thefe parts muft be filled 
up with fome foft and ductile matter, which fhall 
keep them in "heir places, unite them, and, at 
the fame time, allow them to move a little upon 
one another: this end is accordingly anfwered 
by the cellular membrane, or adipofe fub- 
flance. 

There muft be an outward covering over the 
whole apparatus, both to give it a firm compact - 
nefs, and to defend it from a thoufand injuries ; 
which in fact, are the very purpofes of the ikin 
and other integuments. x\nd as fhe is made for 

focietv 



PARTI.] VARIETY OF PARTS IN THE BODY. 11 

fociety and intercourfe with beings of her own 
kind, fhe mufl be endued with powers of ex- 
preffing and communicating her thoughts, by 
fome fenfible marks or figns, which fhall be 
both eafy to herfelf, and admit of great variety : 
accordingly, me is provided with the organs 
and faculty of fpeech ; by which fhe can throw 
out figns with amazing facility, and vary them 
without end. 

Thus we have built up an animal body, which 
would feem to be pretty complete ; but we have 
not yet made any provifion for its duration : and, 
as it is the nature of matter to be altered and 
worked upon by matter ; fo, in a very little 
time, fuch a living creature muft«be deftroyed, if 
there is no provifion for repairing the injuries 
which fhe mull commit upon herfelf, and the in- 
juries to which fhe muft be expofed from with- 
out. Therefore a treafure of blood is actually 
provided in the heart and vafcular fyftem, full of 
nutritious and healing particles, fluid enough to 
penetrate into the minuteft part of the animal : 
impelled by the heart, and conveyed by the ar- 
teries, it wafhes every part, builds up what was 
broken down, and fweeps away the old and ufe- 
lefs materials; Hence we fee the neceffity or 
advantage of the heart and arterial fyftem. 

What more there is of this blood, than enough 

to repair the prefent damages of the machine, 

-mull not be loft, but fhould be returned again 

to 



12 THE NECESSITY FOR THE [pART I. 

to the heart: and for this purpofe the venal 
fyftem is actually provided. Thefe requifrtes in 
the animal, explain, a priori, the circulation of the 
blood. 

The old materials which were become ufelefs, 
and are fwept off by the current of blood, muft 
be feparated and thrown out of the fyftem : 
therefore, glands, the organs of fecretion, are 
given for draining whatever is redundant, vapid, 
or noxious, from the mats of blood ; and when 
ftrained, they are thrown out by emunctoiics, 
called excretories. 

Now as the fabric muft be conftantly wearing, 
the reparation muft be carried on without inter- 
million, and the ftrainers mult be always em- 
ployed: therefore, there is actually a perpetual 
circulation of the blood, and the fecretions are 
always going on. 

But even all this provifion would not be fufri- 
cient ; for that Ho re of blood would foon be 
confumed, and the fabric would break down, if 
there were not a provifion made for frefh (up- 
plies. Thefe, we obferve, are, in fact, profufely 
fcattered around her, in the animal and vegetable 
kingdoms ; and me is provided with hands, the 
fineft inftruments that could have been contrived, 
for gathering them, and for preparing- them in a 
variety of different ways for the mouth. Thefe 
iupplies, which we call food, muft be confider- 
ably changed ; they mull be converted into 

blood : 



PART J.] VARIETY OF PARTS IN THE BODY. 13 

blood : therefore Hie is provided with teeth for 
cutting and bruifing the food, and with a fto- 
mach for melting it down ; in fhort, with all the 
organs fubiervient to digeftiom The finer parts 
of the aliments only can be uleful in the coniti- 
tution: thefe mull be taken up, and conveyed 
into the blood, and the dregs muft be thrown off. 
With this view the inteftinal canal is actually 
given. It feparates the nutritious part, which we 
call chyle, to be conveyed into the blood, by 
the fyftem of abforbent vefTels ; and the faeces 
pafs downward to be conducted out of the 
body. 

Now we have gotten our animal not only fur- 
nifhed with what is wanting for its immediate 
exiflence ; but, alfo, with the power of fpinning 
out that exiftence to an indefinite length of time; 
but its duration, we may prefume, muft necef- 
iarily be limited : for as it is nourished, grows, 
and is raifed up to its full frrength and utmoft 
perfection ; fo it muft, in time, in common with 
all material beings, begin to decay, and then 
hurry on to final ruin. Hence we fee the necef- 
fity of or a fcheme of renovation : accordingly, 
wife Providence, to felf- perpetuate, as well as 
prefer ve his work, befides giving a firong appe- 
tite for life and prefervation, has made animals 
male and female, and given' them fuch organs 
and paflions, as will fecure the propagation of the 
fpecies to the end of the world. 

Tlius 



$4 THE NECESSITY FOR THE [pAKT I. 

Thus we fee^ that by the very imperfecl fur- 
vey which human reafon is able to take of the 
fubjec% the animal man, muft neceflarily be 
complex in his corporeal fyftem, and operations. 

He muft have one great and general fyftem ; 
the vafcular — branching through the whole — 
for circulation ; another, the nervous — with its 
append ages, the organs of fen fe— for every kind 
of feeling; and a third, for the union and con- 
nection of all thofe parts. 

Befides thefe primary and general fyftems, he 
requires others, which may be more local or con- 
fined: one — for ftrength, fupporr, and protec- 
tion — the bony compages ; another — for the re- 
quisite motions of the parts among themfelves, 
as well as for moving from place to place — the 
mufcular parts of the body; another — to prepare 
nourifnment for the daily recruit of the bodv — 
the digeltive organs ; and one — for propagating 
the fpecies- — the organs of generation. 

And, in taking this general furvey of what ap- 
pears, a priori, to be neceflary for adapting an 
animal to the Situations of humanity, we obferve, 
with great Satisfaction, that man is accordingly, 
in facl, made of fuch fyftems, and for fuch pur- 
pofes. He has them all; and he has nothing 
more, except the organs of reipiration. Breath- 
ing we cannot account for, a priori ; we only 
know that it is, in facl, effential and necefiary to 
life. Notwithilanding this — when we fee all the 

other 



PARTI.] VARIETY OP PARTS IN THE BODY. 15 

other parts of the body, and their functions, fo 
well accounted for, and fo wifely adapted to 
their feveral purpofes — we cannot doubt that 
refpiration is fo likewife. And if ever we fhould 
be happy enough to find out clearly the object 
of this function, we fhall, doubtleis, as clearly fee, 
that the organs are wifely contrived for an im- 
portant office, as we now fee the purpofe and 
importance of the heart and vafcular fyftem ; 
which, till the circulation of the blood was dif- 
covered, was wholly concealed from us. 

The ufe and neceffity of all the different 
fyftems in a man's body are not more apparent, 
than the wifdom and contrivance which have 
been exerted in putting them all into the moft: 
compact and convenient form ; and in difpofing 
them that they fhall mutually receive and give 
helps to one another ; and that all, or many of 
the parts, fhall not only anfwer their principal 
end or purpofe, but operate fuccefsfully and ufe- 
fully in many fecondary ways. 

If we underftand and confider the whole ani- 
mal machine in this light, and compare it with 
any machine, in which human art has exerted its 
utmoft — fuppofe the befl conftructed fhip that 
ever was built — we fhall be convinced, beyond 
the poflibility of doubt, that there is intelligence 
and power far furpaffing what humanity can 
boaft of. 

In making fuch a comparifon, there is a pecu- 
liarity 



\6 THE NECESSITY FOR THE [pAIIT I, 

liarity and fuperiority in the natural machine, 
which cannot efcape obfervation ; it is this : — 
in machines of human contrivance or art, ther# 
is no internal po\ T er, no principal in the machine 
itfelf, by which it can alter and accommodate 
itfelf to any injury which it may fuffer ; or make 
tip any injury which is reparable : but in the na- 
tural machine, the animal body, this is moft won- 
derfully provided for, by internal powers in the 
machine itfelf ; many of which are not more cer- 
tain and obvious in their effects, than they are 
above all human comprehenfion as to the manner 
and means of their operation. Thus, a wound 
heals up of itfelf ; a broken bone is made iirm 
again by a callus; a dead part is feparated and 
thrown off; noxious juices are driven out b\ 
fome of the emunctories ; a redundancy is re- 
moved by fome fpontaneous bleeding; a bleediiu 
naturally flops of itfelf ; and a great lofs of blood, 
and from any caufc, is, in fome meafure, com- 
penfated by a contracting power in the valcuiar 
fyftem, which accommodates the capacity of the 
veffels to the quantity contained : the flomach 
gives information when the fupplies have been 
expended ; reprefents with great exaetnefs the 
quantity and the quality of what is wanted in the 
prefent itate of the machine ; and, in proportion 
as fhe meets with neglect, riles in her demand, 
urges her petition in a louder voice, and with 
moj^e forcible arguments ; for its protection, an 

animal 



PART I.] VARIETY OF PARTS IN THE BODY. 17 

animal body refifts heat and cold in a very won- 
derful manner, and preferves an equal temperature 
in a burning and a freezing atmofphere. 

There is a further excellence or fuperiority in 
the natural machine, if poffible, more aftonifh- 
ing, more beyond all human comprehenfion, than 
what we have been fpeaking of. Befides thofe 
internal powers of felf-prefervation in each indi- 
vidual, where two of them co-operate, or a£t in 
Concert, they are endued with powers of making 
other animals, or machines, like themfelves ; 
which again are poffefled of the fame powers of 
producing others, and fo of multiplying the fpecies 
without end. 

Thefe are powers which mock all human in- 
vention or imitation : they are characteriftics of 
the divine Architect. 



CHAPTER 



( » ) 

CHAPTER II. 

Of the Brain. 

J. HE brain is a medullary fubftance enclofed in 
a box of bones, admirably fuited for its defence, 
and the whole of it is divided into two parts : 
that which is in the upper or fore part of the fkuli 
is called the Cerebrum, and that which lies in 
the back part jufl under the Cerebrum is called 
the Cerebellum. They are both envelloped in 
Two membranes named Dura Mater and Pia 
Mater. 

The Dura Mater, is a very compact ftrong 
membrane, lining the Lnfide of the Ikull, and it 
has three procefles or parts, ferving as partitions 
for certain portions of the brain to keep it 
fteady. 

The Pia Mater is an exceedingly fine membrane 
immediately inverting the brain even between its 
lobes, hemifpheres, and folds. It fcrves to con- 
tain the brain, and fupport its blood veiiels. 
which run here in great numbers, that the blood 
may not enter the brain two impetuoufly, and the 
veins unite upon it. 

There is a medullary production from the 
under part of the Cerebrum and Cerebellum, 

which 



*AftT 1.] OF THE fifcAlff. 19 

which is called Medulla Oblongata* The pro- 
duction of this through the great opening of the 
ikull, and down the channel of the fpine is the 
Medulla Spinalis. 

Wounds in the Cerebrum, though very dan- 
gerous, are not mortal ; but in the Cerebellum 
and Medulla Oblongata they Caufe fudden death; 
and in the Medulla Spinalis, lofs of fenfe, in all 
the parts which receive nerves from below the 
wound* 

The brain is the organ of thought, and the 
nerves which arife from the brain and fpine, are 
the organs by which the body and foul act one 
on the other; but before we treat of the nerves, 
the order we have adopted requires us to take a 
view of the organs of fenfe. 



C % CHAR 



( so ) 



CHAP. III. 

Of the Organs of Senfe. 

Of the Eye. 

A HE figure, fituation, and ufe of the eyes, 
together with the eye-brows, eye-lames, and 
eye-lids, being well known, I need only de- 
fcribe what is ufually fhewn by diffe&ing. 
The orbit of the eye, or cavity in which it is con- 
tained, is in all the vacant places filled with a 
loofe fat, which is a proper medium for the eye to 
reft in, and ferves as a focket for it to be moved 
in. In the upper and outer part of the orbit, is 
feated the lacrymal gland. Its ufe is to furnifh 
at all times water enough to waih. off duft and to 
keep the outer fur face of the eye- moift, with- 
out which the tunica cornea would be lefs pellu- 
cid, and the rays of light would be difturbed in 
their paflage; and that this liquor may be rightly 
difpofed of, we frequently c\oie the eye-lids to 
fpread it equally, even when we are not confeious 
of doing it. At the inner corner of the eve, be- 
tween the eye -lids, Hands a caruncle, which feems 
to be placed to keep that corner of the eye-lids 
from being totally clofed, that any tears or gum- 
my 



PART I.] OP THE ORGANS OP SENSE. 21 

my matter may flow from under the eye- lids, 
when we fleep, 'or into the Puncta Lacrymalia, 
which are little holes, one in each eye -lid, near 
this corner, to carry off into the Ductus ad 
Nafum, any fuperiiuous tears. 

The firft membrane of the eye is called Con- 
junctiva, it covers fo much of the eye as is called 
the white, and being reflected all round, it lines 
the two eye-lids ; it being thus returned from the 
eye to the infide of the eye-lids ; it effectually 
hinders any extraneous bodies, from getting be- 
hind the eye, into the orbit, and fmooths the 
parts it covers, which makes the friction lefs be- 
tween the eye and the eye-lids. This coat is very 
full of blood velTels, as appears upon any inflam- 
mation. 

Tunica Sclerotis, and Cornea, make together 
one firm cafe of a proper form, for the ufe of the 
other coats and humours. The fore part of this 
itrong coat being tranfparent, and like horn, is 
called Cornea, and the reft Sclerotis. Under the 
Cornea lies the Iris which is an opake membrane, 
like the Tunica Choroides, but of different colours 
in different eyes, fuch as the eye appears, as grey, 
black, or hazel, for it being feated under the Tu- 
nica Cornea, it gives fuch an appearance to that as 
it has itfelf. The middle of it is perforated fo r 
the admiflion of the rays of light, and is called 
the pupil. Immediately under the Iris lie the Pro - 
ceffus Ciliares, like radial lines from a Idler circle 

C 3 to 



22 OP THE ORGANS OP SENSE* [FART I. 

to a greater. When thefe proceffes contrail they 
dilate the pupil to fuffer more rays of light to en- 
ter into the eye ; and the contrary is done by the 
circular fibres of the Iris, which act as afphincter 
mufcle : But thefe changes are not made with 
great quicknefs, as appears from the eyes being 
opprefled with a ftrong light, for fome time after 
\ve come out of a dark place, and from the con- 
trary effect in going fuddenly from a light place 
to a dark one. And as the pupil always dilates in 
darker places, to receive more rays of light, fo 
when any difeafe makes fome of thofe rays inef- 
fectual, which pais through the pupil, it dilates 
as in dark places to admit more light ; therefore a 
dilated pupil is a certain fign of a bad eye, and 
this may be difcerned ufually fooner than the pa-, 
tient difcerns any defect in vilion. In men the 
pupil is round, which fits them to fee every way 
alike ; it is alfo round in animals that are the prey 
both of birds and beafts. But graminivorous 
brutes that are too large to be the prey of birds, 
have it oblong horizontally, which fits them to 
view a large fpace upon the earth ; while animals 
of the cat kind, who climb trees, and prey indif- 
ferently on birds or animals that hide in the earth, 
have their pupils oblong the contrary way, which 
fits them belt to look upward and downward at 
once. Befides thefe there are other animals whofe 
pupils arc in thefe forms, but in lefs proportions, 
lo as belt to fit their ways of life. Immediately 

under 



PARTI.] OF THE ORGANS OF SENSE. 23 

under Sclerotis, is a membrane of little firmnefs 
called Choroides ; in men it is of a rufty dark co- 
lour, fuch as will bury almoft all the rays of light, 
that pafs through the Tunica Retina, which if it 
were of a bright colour, would reflect many of 
the rays upon the Retina, and make a fecond 
image upon the firft fomewhat lefs, and lefs di- 
ftinct, but both together ftronger ; which is the 
cafe of brutes of prey, where a great part of this 
coat is perfectly white, which makes them fee bo- 
dies of all colours in the night better than men, 
for white reflects all colours : But brutes that feed 
only on grafs, have the fame parts of this mem- 
brane of a bright green, which enables them alfo 
to fee with lefs light, and makes grafs an object 
that they can difcern with greateft ftrength : But 
thefe advantages in brutes, neceflarily deflxoy 
great accuracy in virion, which is of little or no 
ufe to them, but to men of great confequence. 
This green part of the Tunica Choroides, in ani- 
mals that graze, may properly be called Mem- 
brana Uvea, from its refemblance in colour, to an 
unripe grape. But in men's eyes, only a white 
circle round the back fide of the Choroides near 
tht cornea, is called Uvea. 

Immediately under the Tunica Choroides, lies 
the Tunica Retina, which is the optic nerve ex- 
panded and co-extended with the Choroides. 
Rays of light finking upon this membrane, the 
feniation is conveyed by the optic nerves, to the 
C 4 common 



24 OF THE ORGANS OF SENSE. [PART I* 

common Senforium, the brain : thefe nerves do 
not enter at the middle of the bottom of the eyes, 
but nearer the nofe ; for thofe rays of light being 
ineffectual for vinon that fall upon the entrance of 
the optic nerves, it is fit they mould fo enter, as 
that the fame object, or part of any object, fhould 
not be unperceived in both eyes, as would 
have been the cafe, had they been otherwife infert- 
ed ; which appears from a common experiment of 
part of an object being loft to one eye, when we 
are looking towards it with the other fhut. The 
two optic nerves foon after they arife out of the 
brain join and feem perfectly united ; yet I am in- 
clined to think that their fibres are preferved di- 
fiinct, and that the nerve of each eye, arifes wholly 
from the oppolitc fide of the brain, or elfe that 
the other nerves throughout the body arife from 
the brain, and Medulla Oblongata on the fides 
oppofite to thofe they come out of. In fifh thefe 
nerves arife diftinct from the oppofite fides of the 
brain, and crofs without uniting ; but as thefe 
animals have their eyes fo placed, as not to fee the 
fame object with both eyes at once, whereas ani- 
mals whole optic nerves feem to unite, do fee the 
fame object with both eyes at once, one would fuf- 
pect that in one they were joined to make the ob- 
ject not appear double, and in the other diftinct, 
to make their two eyes (as they are to view dif- 
ferent objects at the fame time) independent of 
each other; and yet from the following cafes, the 

feeing 



PART I.] OF THE ORGANS OF SENSE. C5 

feeing objects fingle feems not to depend upon any 
fuch union, nor from the light ftriking upon cor- 
refponding fibres of the nerves, as others have be- 
lieved, but upon a judgment from experience, 
all objects appearing fingle to both eyes in the 
manner we are moft ufed to obferve them, but in 
other cafes double ; for though we have a diftinct 
image from each eye fent to the brain, yet while 
both thefe images are of an object' feen in one and 
the fame place, we conceive of them as one, fo 
when one image appears to the eyes, when they 
are diflorted -^or wrong directed in two different 
places, it gives the idea of two ; and when two 
bodies are feen in one place, as two candles rightly 
placed, through one hole in a Ipoard, they appear 
one. But cafes of this kind being too numerous, I 
will conclude with one very remarkable, and, I 
think, much in favour of this opinion. A gentle- 
man who, from a blow on the head, had one eye 
diflorted, found every object appear double, but 
by degrees the moft familiar ones became fingle, 
and in time all objects became fo, without any 
amendment of the diftortion. 

The infide of the eye is filled with three 
humours, called aqueous, crystalline, and vi- 
treous. The aqueous lies foremoft, and feems 
chiefly of ufe to prevent the cryflalline from be- 
ing eafily bruifed by rubbing or a blow, and per- 
haps it ferves for the cryflalline humour to move 
forward in while we view near objects, and back- 
ward for remoter objects ; without which mechan- 

iim, 



26 OF THE ORGANS OF SENSE, [PART I. 

ifm, or in the place of it a greater convexity in the 
cryftalline humour in the former cafe, and a lefs 
convexity in the latter, I do not imagine, according 
to the laws of optics, how we could fo diftinctly 
fee objects at different diftances. However it be in 
land animals, I think we may plainly fee, that fifh 
move their cryftalline humour, nearer the bottom 
of the eye when they are out of water, and ths 
contrary way in water ; becaufe light is lefs re- 
fracted from water through the cryftalline hu- 
mour than from air. Some have faid, that amphi- 
bious animals have a membrane like the Membrana 
Nictitans of birds, which ferves them as a Lens 
in the water. On examining the eye of a crocodile, 
which Sir Hans Sloan kept in fpirits, this mem- 
brane was found equally thick and denfe, and con- 
fequently unfit for this purpofe, or, I believe, any 
other except that obvious one, of defending the 
eye from the water. Next behind the aqueous hu- 
mour lies the cryftalline ; its fhape is a depreffed 
fpheroid, it is diftinctly contained in a very fine 
membrane called Aranea. The ufe of this hu- 
mour is to refract the rays of light which* pals 
through it, fo that each pencil of rays from the 
fame point of any object, may be united upon the 
Retina (as in a Camera Obfcura) to make the 
ftronger impreflion ; and though by this union of 
the rays a picture inverted is made upon the Re- 
tina, yet furely it is the impulfe only of the rays 
upon the Retina, that is the caufe of vifion ; for 

had 



PART I.] OP THE ORGANS OP SENSE. 2? 

had the colour of the Retina been black, and con- 
fequently unfit to receive fuch a picture, would 
not the impulfe of light upon it have been fuffi- 
cient for vifion ? Or would fuch a picture, if it 
could have been made without any impulfe, have 
ever conveyed any fenfation to the brain ? Then 
if the impulfe of light upon the Retina, and not 
the image upon the Retina, is the caufe of vifion ; 
when we enquire why an image inverted in the eye 
appears otherwife to the mind, might we not ex- 
pect to find the true caufe from confidering the 
directions in which the rays frrike the Retina, as 
we judge of above and below from a like experi- 
ence, when any thing flrikes upon any part of our 
bodies ; neverthelefs in viewing an object through 
a, lens, we conceive of it as inverted, whereas in 
receiving the impulfes of light in the fame 
manner, and having the picture on the Retina in 
the fame attitude, when we ftand on our heads with- 
out the lens, we have not the fame, but the con- 
trary idea of the pofition of the object. Though 
I have confldered this humour only a refraction of 
light/^yet the firft and greatefl refraction is un- 
doubtedly made in the Cornea ; but it being Con- 
cavo-convex, like glaffes of that kind, while one 
fide makes the rays of light converge, the other 
diverges them again. The fame thing alfo may 
be obferved of the aqueous humour, which is in- 
deed more concave than convex ; but when the 
cryftalline humour is removed in the couching a 

cataract 



23 OF THE ORGANS OF SENSE. [PART U 

cataract the aqueous poiTefies its place and becomes 
a lens ; but that refracting light lefs than the 
cryftalline, whofe place and fhape it partly takes, 
the patient needs a convex glafs to fee accurately. 
In fome eyes either this humour being too con- 
vex or too diftant from the Retina, the rays unite 
too foon unlefs the object is held very near to the 
eye, which fault is remediable by a concave glafs, 
as the contrary fault (common to old perlbns) is 
by a convex glafs. Here it may not be improper 
to obferve, how wifely Providence has fixed the 
diftance, at which we ordinarily fee objects belt. ; 
for if the eye had been formed for a nearer view, 
the object would often obftruct the light ; if it 
had been much farther, light enough would not 
commonly have been produced from the object to 
the eye. In fifh the cryftalline humour feems a 
perfect fphere, which is neceffary for them, be- 
caufe light being lefs refracted from water through 
the cryftalline humour than from air, that defect 
is compenfated by a more convex lens. The vi- 
treous humour lies behind the cryftalline, and fill* 
up the greater!: part of the eye : Its fore licle is con- 
cave for the cryftalline humour to lodge in, and 
its back fide, being convex, the Tunica Retina is 
fpread over it ; it ferves as a medium to keep the 
cryftalline humour and the Retina at a clue 
diftance. 

The larger animals having larger eyes, their or- 
gans of viiion (like a microfcope with a large 

lens) 



FART I,] OF THE ORGANS OP SENSE. 29 

lens) are fit to take in a greater view, but in that 
view things are not fo much magnified ; fo in the 
lener animals a fmall fpace is difcerned, fuch as 
is their fphere of action, but that greatly magni- 
fied, not really fo in either cafe, but compara- 
tively ; for virions fhews not the real magnitude of 
objects, but their proportions one to another. 
Fifli have their eyes, and particularly their pupils, 
larger than land animals, becaufe there is lefs 
light, and that not fo far diftributed in water as hi 
the air. 

The organs of fenfe are here treated anatomi- 
cally ; for the knowledge of vifion and found, the 
ftudent muft apply to the fciences of optics and 
acouftics. 

Of the Ear. 

The figure and fituation of the outer ear, needs 
no defcription. Its inner fubflance is cartilage, 
which preferves its form without being liable to 
break : Its ufe is to collect founds, and direct 
them into the Meatus Audirorius, which is the 
paffage that leads to the drum; this paiiage is 
lined with a glandular membrane, in which alfo is 
fome. hair ; the Cerumen which is feparated by 
thefe glands, being fpread all over this membrane, 
and its hair, ferve to defend the membrane from 
the outer air, and to entangle any infect: that 
might -otherwife get into the ear. Sometimes this 
wax being feparated in too great quantity, it 

fills 



30 OF f HE 6HGANS OF SENSE* [PART t< 

fills up the paflage, and caufes deafnefs ; and thofe 
great di {charges of matter from the Meatus Au-< 
ditorius, which are commonly called impoftumes 
in the ear, are probably nothing elfe than ulcera- 
tions, or great fecretions from thefe glands. At 
the farther end of the Meatus Auditorius lies the 
tympanum or drum, which is extended upon a 
bony ridge almoft circular : its iituation in men 
and brutes is nearly horizontal, inclined towards 
the Meatus Auditorius, which is the beffc po- 
fition to receive founds ; the greater! part of 
which being ordinarily reverberated from the 
earth. In its common fituation in men and 
brutes, it is concave outward, but in birds it is 
convex outward, fo as to make the upper fide of 
it nearly perpendicular to the horizon, which 
ferves them better to hear each other's founds 
when they are high in the air, where they can re- 
ceive but little reverberated found. This mem - 
brane does not entirely clofe the paflage, but has 
on one fide a fmall aperture covered with a valve. 
In very young children I have always found this 
membrane covered with Mucus, which feems ne- 
ceflary to prevent founds from afFe cling them 
too much, there being no provifion to fhut the 
ears, as there is for the eyes. A gentleman, having 
had four children born deaf, was advifed to lay 
blifters upon the heads of the next children he 
might have, which he did to three which w T ere 
born afterward, and every one of them heard well. 

It 



PARTI.] OF THE ORGANS OF SF.NSH. 31 

It feems not unreafonable to fuppofe that too great 
a quantity of this Mucus upon the drum, might 
be the caufe of deafnefs in the four children, and 
that the difcharge made by the blifters in the 
latter cafes, was the caufe of their efcaping the 
fame misfortune. 

into the middle of the Tympanum is extended 
a fmall bone called Malleus, whofe other end is 
articulated to a bone called Incus, which is alio 
articulated by the intervention of an exceedingly 
fmall one called Orbiculare, to a fourth bone called 
Stapes. Thefe bones are contained in that cavity 
behind the Tympanum, which is called the barrel 
of the ear ; but fome anatomifls call the barrel 
only Tympanum, and the membrane Membrana 
Tympani. The Malleus being moved inward by 
the Mufculus Obliquus Internus, or Trochlearis* 
it extends the Tympanum that it may be the more 
afre&ed by the impulfe of founds when they arc 
too weak. This mufcle arifes from the cartilagi- 
nous part of the Euftachian tube, and paffing 
from thence in a proper groove, it is reflected un- 
der a fmall procefs, and thence pafles on perpen- 
dicular to the Tympanum, to be inferted into the 
handle of the Malleus, fometimes with a double 
tendon. Parallel to this mufcle lies another Ex- 
tenfor of the Tympanum, called Obliquus Exter- 
nus ; it arifes from the outer and upper part of the 
Euftachian tube, and, paffing through the fame 
hole with the Corda Tympani, which is a, branch 

of 



32 OF THE ORGANS OF SENSE. [PART U 

of the fifth pair of nerves, it is inferted into a long 
procefs of the Malleus : This is not fo obvious 
an Extenfor as to be known to be fo, without an 
experiment* The mufcle which relaxes this mem- 
brane is called Externus Tympani ; it arifes from 
the upper part of the auditory pafTage under the 
membrane which lines this pafTage, and is inferted 
into the upper procefs of the Malleus. The re- 
laxation of the Tympanum is made by this muf- 
cle, without our knowledge, when founds are too 
ftrong ; and as the pupil' of the eye is contracted, 
when we have too much light, and dilated where 
there is too little, from what caufe foever, fo when 
founds are too low, or the fenfe of hearing imper- 
fect, from whatever caufe, the Extenfors of the 
Tympanum ii retch it, to make the impulfc of 
founds more effe&aul upon it, juft as in the cak 
of the common drum, and the cords of any muii- 
cal inftrument. From the cavity behind the Tym- 
panum, which is called the barrel of the ear, goes 
the Euftachian tube, or Iter ad Palatum ; it ends 
cartilaginous behind the palate. This pafTage 
feems to be exactly of the fame ufe with the hole 
in the fide of the common drum, that is to let the 
air pafs in and out from the barrel of the ear, to 
make the membrane vibrate the better, and per-., 
haps in the ear (which is clofer than a common 
drum) to let air in or out as it alters in denfity, and 
if any fluid fhould be feparatedin the barrel of the 
ear to give it a pafTage out. This paiiage being ob- 

ftrutfed, 



*ARTI.] OF THE ORGANS OP SENSE. 33 

ftructed, as it is fometimes, by a large Polypus 
behind the Uvula, it caufes great difficulty of 
hearing, and fometimes, when the Meatus Audi- 
torius is obftruclcd, a man opening his mouth 
wide, will hear pretty well through this pafTage, 
which is often fo open as that fy ringing water 
through the nofe, it mail pafs through into the 
barrel of the ear and caufe deafnefs for fome 
time. If any one would try how he can hear 
this way, let him ftop his ears, and take between 
his teeth the end of a wire, or cord that will vi- 
brate well, and holding the other end, ftrike it, 
and the found that he hears will be through this 
pafTage. To the ftapes there is one mufcle called 
Mufculus Stapedis ; it lies in a long channel, and 
ending in the ftapes, it ferves to pull the ftapes 
off of the Feneftxa Ovalis, which otherwife it co- 
vers. Befides the Feneftra Ovalis, there is an- 
other near it fomewhat lefs, called Rotunda ; thefe 
two holes lead to a cavity called Veftibulum, 
which leads into other cavities aptly called Coch- 
lea, and three femicircular canals or altogether 
the labyrinth, in which are fpread the auditory 
nerves to receive and convey the impulfe of 
founds, to the common Senforium the brain ; and 
the Chorda Tympani, which is a branch of 
the fifth pair of nerves, may alfo convey thefe 
fenfations to the brain. The two holes called Fe- 
neflra Ovalis and Rotunda, are clofed with a fine 
membrane like the membrane called the drum, 

D and 



34 OF THE ORGANS OF SENSE* [PART I* 

and the larger being occaflonally covered and un- 
covered by the Stapes, founds are thereby made 
to influence more or lefs, as bell: ferves for hearing, 
and this advantage, being added to that of a lax or 
tenfe Tympanum the effect of founds may be 
greatly encreafed or leffened upon the auditory 
nerves, expanded in the labyrinth. In the ftrongeft 
founds, the Tympanum may be lax, and the Fe- 
neftra Ovalis covered; and for the 1 owe ft the Tym- 
panum tenfe and the Feneftra uncovered. If 
founds propagated in the air were heard lefs, wc 
might often be in danger before we were apprized 
of it, and if the organs of hearing were much more 
perfect, unlefs our underftandings were fo too, we 
fhould commonly hear more things at once than wc 
could attend to. 

Of the Senfes of Smelling, Tnjling, and Feeling. 

The fenfe of fmelling is made by the Effluvia 
which are conveyed by the air to the nerves, end- 
ing in the membranes which line the nole and its 
Lamellae. In men thefe Lamellae are few, and the 
pafTage through the nofe not difficult ; hence 
fewer Effluvia will ftrike the nerves, than in ani- 
mals of more exquifite fmell, whofe npfes being 
full of Lamellae, and the pafTage for the air nar- 
row and crooked, few of the Effluvia efcape one 
place or another, befides their Olfactory nerves 
may be more fenlible. Fifh, though they have 
no nofes, yet in their mouths they may tafte Ef- 
fluvia 



PART I.] OF THE ORGANS OF SENSE. 3$ 

fluvia in the water, as furely thofe fifh do, who 
feek their prey in the darkeft nights, and in great 
depths of water, there being more nerves difpofed 
in their mouths, than through their whole bodies 
befide, the optic excepted ; and it looks as if it 
was done for this purpofe ; for the mere fenfe of 
tailing, is ordinarily lefs curious in them, than in 
land animals ; in baiting eel bafkets, if the bait 
has lain long in water, it is feldom taken, but 
upon fcarifying it afrefh, which will make it emit 
new effluvia, it ferves as a frefh bait. 

The fenfe of tailing is made in the like manner 
upon the nerves, which line the mouth, and fo is 
that of feeling upon the nerves, diftributed through- 
out the body ; which will be treated more largely 
in the next chapter on the nerves. 



£ 2 CHAPTER 



( 36 ) 



CHAPTER IV. 

Of the Nerves, or Organs of Communication 
with the Brain. 

h ROM the medullary part of the Cerebrum, 
Cerebellum, and Medulla Spinalis, a vaft number 
of fmall medullary white fibres are fent out, 
which, at their firft egrefs, feem eafily to fepa- 
rate, but as they pafs forward are fomewhat more, 
but full loofely connected, by the coat which they 
obtain from the Pia Mater, and at laft piercing 
the Dura Mater, are ftraitly braced by that mem- 
brane which covers them in their progrefs ; 
whence they become white, firm, itrong cords, 
and arc fo well known by the name of nerves. 
To thefe coats an infinite number of vefTels, both 
arteries and veins are distributed ; lb that after a 
nice, lucky injection the whole cord is tinged 
with the colour of the injecfed liquor ; but when 
the fibrils are examined, even with the beft mi- 
cro fcope, they appear only like fo many fmall 
diiiincl threads running parallel, without any ca- 
vity obfervable in them, though fome incautious 
obiervers, miitaking the cut orifices of the arte- 
rioles and venous vefTels, juli now mentioned, for 

nervous 






I»ART I.] OP THE NERVES. 37 

nervous tubes, have affirmed their cavities to be 
vifible. The nerves, which if all joined, hardly 
make a cord of an inch diameter, would feem> 
from their exerting themlelves every where, to be 
diftributed to each, even the fmalleft part of the 
body- In their courfe to the places for which they 
are deftined they generally run as ftrait, as the 
the part over which they are to pais, and their 
own fafety from external injuries will allow, fend- 
ing off their branches at very acute angles, and 
confequently running more parallel than the blood 
veflels. Their diftribution is feldom different in 
the oppofite lides of the fame fubject, nor indeed 
in any two fubjects is there coniiderable variety 
found. Frequently nerves which come out 
diftindt or feparate, afterwards conjoin into one 
Fafciculus, under the fame common covering ; 
and though the nervous fibrils probably do not 
communicate v the rcafon of which opinion fhall 
immediately be given) yet becaufe the coats, at 
the conjoined part are common, and thefe ftrong 
coats may have great effects on the foft pulpy 
nerves, it is evident all fuch will have a coniidera- 
ble fympathy with one another. In fome parts 
where there are fuch conjunctions, the bulk of the 
nerves feems much increafed, and thefe knotty 
oval bodies, called by Fallopius, Corpora Olivaria, 
and generally now named ganglions, are formed ; 
the coats of thefe knots are ftronger, thicker, and 

D 3 more 



38 OF THE NERVES. [PART I« 

more mufcular, than the whole nerves which en- 
ter into them would feem to conditute, while the 
nervous fibrils pafs through without any great al- 
teration or change. I do not think any author 
has yet made a probable conjecture of the ufe or 
deftVn of thefe gansHons, whether they imagine 
them Corcula Expellentia, refervoirs, or elabo- 
ratories, neither can I give ar account o! heir ufe 
the lead fatisfaclcry to myfelf. 

From undeniable evident experiments, all ana- 
tomies are now convinced, that to the nerves we 
owe all our fenfation and motion, of which they 
are the proper organs ; and the fenfations in the 
minuted parts being very didindl, therefore the 
inftruments of fuch fenfations mud have didinct 
origins and courfes to each part. Though all are 
agreed as to the effect, yet a hot difpute has arifen 
about the manner how it is produced, viz. whe- 
ther fenfation and motion are occafioned by a vi- 
bration communicated to the nerves, which 
iome fuppofe entirely folid and tenfe, or by 
a liquid contained and moved in them. The lad 
of thefe opinions I rather incline to for thefe rea- 
fons, becaufe the nerves proceeding from the 
brain bear a great analogy to the excretory duels 
of other glands. Then they are far from being 
fi retched and tenfe, in order to vibrate : and what 
brings the exidence of a liquid in their cavities 
next to a demondration, is the experiment fird 

made 



PART I.] ©F THE NERVES. 3Q 

made by Bellini, and related by Bohn and Pitcairn, 
which I have often done with exact good fuccefs ; 
it is this: after opening the Thorax of a living 
dog, catch hold of, and comprefs, the phrenick 
nerve, immediately the diaphragm ceafes to act ; 
remove the comprefftng force, that mufcle again 
contracts ; gripe the nerve with one hand fome 
way above the diaphragm, that Septum is unact- 
ive ; then with the other hand ftrip down the 
nerve from the firft hand to the diaphragm, this 
mufcle again contracts ; after once or twice hav- 
ing frripped the nerve thus down, or exhaufred 
the liquid contained in it, the mulcle no more 
acts, fqueeze as you will, till the ftrlt hand is 
taken away or removed higher, and the nerve 
ffripped, /. e. the liquids in the fuperior part of 
the nerve have free accefs to the diaphragm, or 
are forced down to it, when it again will move. 
Now if this liquid fhould bo granted us, I am 
afraid we mall be ftill as much at a lofs to account 
for fenfation and motion as ever ; and therefore all 
I afTume is what is founded on experiments, that 
thefe two actions do depend on the nerves ; that 
fenfations are pleafant as long as the nerves are 
only gently affected without any violence offered 
them ; but as foon as any force applied goes be- 
yond this, and threatens a folution of union, it 
creates that uneafy fenfation, pain ; that the 
nerves, their fource, or their coats being vitiated, 
either convulfion or palfy of the mufcles may enfue. 
D 4 The 



40 OF THE NERVES. [PART I, 

The nerves are diftinguiilied into two claffes, 
of the Encephalon and Medulla Spinalis ; of the 
firft there are generally ten pair reckoned, of the 
laft thirty. It is not neceffary here to go into a 
minute defcription of each nerve, it is enough at 
prefent to know that they run from their origin to 
all parts of the body. The nerves feem, when exa- 
mined with a microfcope, to be bundles of ftraight 
fibres not communicating with one another : And 
I am inclined to think that every the minuter! 
rierve, terminating in any part, is a divtincl cord 
from its origin in the brain, oripinal marrow ; or 
elfe I do not fee how they could produce diftincT: 
fenfations in every part ; and the diftinct points 
of fenfation throughout the body are fo very nu- 
merous, that, the whole body of nerves (which, 
taken together would not make a cord of an inch 
diameter) muft be divided into fuch a number, 
to afford one for every part that has a diftindt 
fenfation, that furely fuch a nerve would be too 
fmall to be feen by the beft microfcope. They all 
pafs in as direct courfes to the places they fervd 
as is poiiible, never feparating nor joining with 
one another but at very acute angles, unlefs where 
they unite in thofe knots which are called Gan- 
glions, the ufe of which I do not pretend to 
know; they make what appears to be a commu- 
nication of moft of the nerves on the fame fide, 
but never join nerves of oppofite fides. 

That 



*ART I.] OP THE NERVES. 41 

That the nerves are inurnment? of fenfation, is 
clearly proved from experiments, but how they 
convey thole fenfations to the brain is, matter of 
great dispute. The mod genera! opinion, is that 
they are tubes to contain animal fpirits, by whofe 
motions thefe fenfations are conveyed : and dili- 
gent enquiry has been made to difcover their ca- 
vities, but hitherto in vain ; and if each nerve is 
diftincl: from its origin, as I have endeavoured to 
ihew, and too fmall to be the object of the bed 
microfcope, I do not fee how fuch cavities are 
like to be discovered. However, I think the 
nerves may be tubes, and that a fluid, whofe co- 
hefion is very little, and whofe parts are perhaps 
no finer than light, may move very freely in 
them. Thofe who deny animal fpirits in thfc 
nerves, fuppofe that the fenfation is conveyed by 
a vibration. To which it is objected, that they 
are flack, moift, and furrounded with foft parts, 
and are therefore unfit for vibrations, as indeed 
they are for fuch as are made on the firings of a 
mufical inflrument ; but the minuteft vibrations, 
fuch as they cannot be without, may be as fuffi- 
cient for this end, as the impulie of light upon 
the Retina, is for the fenfe of feeing. So that 
for ought that I can difcern, fenfations may be 
conveyed either, or both ways, though the advo- 
cates for each opinion, have chiefly infifled upon 
the improbability or impoflibility of the other 
opinion. 

CHAPTER 



( « ) 



CHAPTER V. 

Of the hifiruments oj M$thn\ Mufcles and 

Tendons. 

JL HE mufcles are moving powers, applied to 
perform the feveral motions of the body ; which 
they do by contracting their length, and thereby 
bringing the parts to which they a~e fixed nearer 
together. The immovable or leaft moved part 
any mufcle is fixed to, is ufu-dy called its origin, 
and the other its infertion ; but mufcles that 
have their two ends equally liable to be moved, 
may have either called their origins or in- 
fcrtions. 

Each mufcle is made up of a number of fmall 
fibres, and are of two forts, viz. rectilineal and 
penniform. The former have their fibres al- 
moft parallel in the fame or near the fame direc- 
tion, with the Axis of the mufcle ; and the 
latter have their fibres joined in an oblique di- 
rection, to a tendon pafling in or near the axis, 
or on their outfide. 

The rectilineal mufcles, if their origins and in- 
fertions are in little compafs, are never of any 
confiderable thicknefs, unlets they are very long, 

bccaufe 






FART I ."] MUSCLES AND TENDONS. 43 

becaufe the outward fibres would comprefs the 
inner ones, and make them almofl ufelefs ; and 
therefore every rectilineal mufcle, whole inner 
fibres are comprefled by the outer, have their 
inner fibres longer than the external, that 
they may be capable of equal quantity of con- 
traction. 

The Penniform mufcles, though they are in a 
manner free from the inconvenience of one fibre 
compreffing another, and though by the obli- 
quity of their fibres, nothing is abated of their 
moment, as has been clearly demonflrated 
by experiments, by which it is fhewn, that 
in all cafes, jufl fo much more weight as 
rectilineal fibres will raife than oblique ones, the, 
oblique will move their weight with jufl fo much, 
greater velocity than the rectilineal ; which is 
making their moments equal : fo that, in the 
ilructure of an animal, like all mechanic engines, 
whatever is gained in flrength is loft in velocity, 
and whatever is gained in velocity is lofl in 
flrength. Yet the fibres of the penniform muf- 
cles becoming more and more oblique as they 
contract, their flrength decreafes, and their ve- 
locity increafes, which makes them lefs uniform 
in their actions than the rectilineal mufcles; 
wherefore it feems that nature never ufes a pen- 
niform mufcle where a rectilineal mufcle can be 
ufed ; arid the cafes in which a rectilineal muicle 
£a:\not be ufed, are where the fhape of a mufcle 

is 



44 MUSCLES AND TENDONS. [PART I. 

is fuch as that the inward fibres would be too 
much compreffed, or where rectilineal fibres 
could not have a lever to act with, fuitable to 
their quantity of contraction, which is the cafe 
of all the long mufcles of the fingers and toes ; 
for every mufcle mull: be inferted or pafs over 
the centre of motion of the joint it moves, at a 
diftance proportionable to its quantity of contrac- 
tion, and the quantity of motion in the joint 
moved ; for if it was inferted too near, then the 
motion of the joint would be performed before 
the mufcle is contracted all that it can ; if too far 
oft) the mufcle will have done contracting be- 
fore the whole motion of the joint is made ; and 
though the quicknefs and quantity of motion in 
a mufcle will be, ceteris paribus, as the length of 
its fibres ; for if a fibre four inches long will con- 
tract one inch in a given time, a fibre eight 
inches long will contract two inches in the fame 
time ; and the ftrength of a mufcle or power to 
raife a weight, c<eleris paribus, will be as the 
number of its fibres ; for if one fibre will raife 
a grain weight, twenty fibres will raife twenty 
grains. Neverthelefs, two mufcles of equal mag- 
nitude, one long, and the other fhort, will both 
move the fame weight with the fame velocity 
when applied to a bone ; becaufe the levers they 
act with muft be as their lengths, and therefore 
the penniform and fhort thick mufcles are never 
applied to a bone for the fake of ftrength, nor 






FART I.] MUSCLES AND TENDONS. 45 

long fibred nmfcles for quicknefs : for whatever is 
gained by the form of the mufcle, whether 
fircngth or quicknefs, rnuit be loft by their infer- 
tions into the bone, or elfe the mufcles muft not 
act all they can, or the bones have lefs motion 
than they are fitted for. 

In the limbs feveral mufcles pafs over two 
joints, both of which they are liable to move at 
once, with force proportionable to the levers they 
act with upon each joint ; but either joint being 
fixed by an antagonift mufcle, the whole force of 
iuch mufcles will be exerted upon the other 
joint ; which, in that cafe, may be moved with a 
velocity equal to what is in both joints, when 
thefe mufcles act upon both at once. This me- 
chanifm is of great ufe in the limbs. 

That only we call the proper ufe and action of 
any mufcle which it has without the necefTary 
afliftance of any other mufcle, and what that is 
in a mufcle moving a joint we may always know, 
and with what force it acts, ceteris paribus, by- 
dropping a line, from the center of motion of the 
joint, it moves perpendicular into the axis of the 
mufcle in any fituation; but in a joint which ad- 
mits only of flexion and extenfion, this line mull 
alfo be perpendicular to the axis of motion in 
that joint, and the action of the mufcles will be 
in the direction of that perpendicular line, and 
the force with which it acts in any fituation will 

be 






46 MUSCLES AND TENDON^. j>ART li 

be, eateris- paribus, as the length of that perpendi- 
cular line. 

Each mufcle> fo far as it is diftincl:, and is 
moved againfl any part, is covered with a fmooth 
membrane, to make the friction eafy ; but where! 
they are externally tendinous, thofe tendons are 
often fmooth enough to make fuch a covering 
needlefs. Befides this membrane there is an- 
other, known by the name of Fafcia Tendinofa, 
which deferves to be particularly confidered. 
The frrong one on the outfide of the thigh, 
ivhich belongs to the Fafcialis and Gluteus muf- 
cles is of great ufe in railing the Gluteus farther 
from the centre of motion of the joint it moves, to 
incrcafe its force : in like manner, the Fafcia de- 
tached from the tendon of the Biceps Cubiti alters 
its direction for the fame purpofe, but thofe on 
the outfide of the Tibia and Cubit, &c. are only 
flat tendons from which the fibres of the mufcles 
arife as from the bones. There are alfo in many 
places fuch tendons between the mufcles, from 
which each mufcle arifes in like manner, for the 
bones themfelves are not fufficicnt to give origin 
to half the fibres of the mufcles that belong to 
them ; befides, if all the fibres had rife from the 
bones they muft have been liable to comprefs one 
another very inconveniently. 



A TABLE 



PART I.] MUSCLES AND TENDONS. 47 



A TABLE OF THE MUSCLES. 

The Mufcles of the Forehead are one pair. 

Frontalis, They pull the fkin of the 

forehead upwards. 

Occipitales, They pull the fkin of the 

hindhead upwards. 



Of the Hindhead, one pair. 
AttollensI Auricu- 

DePRIMENSj LARUM. 

Of the Ears, Jtx pair. 

Internus malleoli, It diftends the Tympa- 
num. 

Extern us malleoli, It relaxes the Tympa- 
num. 

Obliquus malleoli. 

Of the Eye-brows, one pair. 
Musculus stapidis, It moves the ftirrup, 

CoRRUGATOR SUPER- 

CILII. 

Eye- lids, two pair. 

Rectus palpebrjE It lifts up the upper eye- 
superioris, lids. 

Orbicularis 



48 MVSCtrs AtfD TENDONS. [PART I* 

Orbicularis palpe- It fhuts both eye-lids. 

BRARUM. 

Eyes, Jix pair. 

AttollensI 

Deprimens I Occula- 

Abductor f RUM. 

Adductor J 

Obliquus major. It pulls the eye forwards, 

and obliquely down- 
wards. 

Obliquus minor, It pulls the eye for- 

wards, and obliquely 
upwards. 



No/e, three pair. 
AttollensI 

DlLATANS SNARES. 

Deprimens 



Lips, Jitf pair, and one Jingle one* 

Incisivus, It pulls the upper lip up- 

wards. 
Triangularis, It pulleth it downwards. 

Cannius 7 *• 

-^ They pull the lower lip 

Elevator labii in- > J , 

upwards. 
ferioris, r 

Quadratus, It pulleth it down* 

wards. 

Zygomaticvs, 






*ART I.] MUSCLES AND TENDONS. 4£ 

Zygomatic us, It draws both lips ob- 

liquely to either fide. 

Orbicularis., It draws both lips toge- 

ther. 

Of the Cheeks, one pair. 

Buccinator, It thrufts the meat be- 

tween our teeth. 
Temporalis, 1 They pull the jaw up- 

Masseter, J wards. 

Lower Jaw, Jtx pair. 

Pterigoid^us in- It draws the jaw to either 

ternus, fide. 

PTERiGoiDiEUS ex*- It draws the jaw forwards. 

TERNUS, 

Quadratus, It pulleth the jaw and 

the cheeks down- 
wards. 

Uvula, two pair. 
Digastricus, It pulleth the jaw down- 

wards. 
Peristaphylinus in- It pulls the Uvula for- 

tern us, wards. 

Peristaphylinus ex- It pulls the Uvula back- 
ternus, wards. 

E Tongue 



50 



•MUSCLES AND TENDONS. [PAKT 1. 



Tongue, three pair* 

-Styloglossus, It draws the tongue up- 

i wards. 

Genioglossus, It pulls it out of the 

mouth. 
CeratoglossuSj It pulls it into the 

mouth. 

Os Hyoides, .Jive pair. 

GENiHYOiDiEUS, It pulls Os Hyoides and 

tongue upwards and 
forwards. 

Sternohyoids^ It pulleth die Os Hyoides 

downwards. 

MyLOHYODiEUS, It pulls it obliquely up- 

wards. 

Coracqhyoidjeus, It pulls it obliquely 

downwards. 

Stylohyoids^, It palls it to either fide, 

and fomewhat up- 
wards. 



Of the Pharynx, two pair. 

Stylo-fharyng.eus,, It pulleth up and dilutcth 

the Pharynx. 

Oesofhagus, It ftraitens the Pha- 

rynx. 

Larynx, 



*ART I.] MUSCLES AND TENDONS. 51 

1 

Larynx* /even pair. 

Sternothyroid,*^, It pulls the Thyroides 

downwards. 

Thyothyroideus, It pulls the Thyroides up- 
wards. 

Cricothyroid eus, 

Cricoarytenoid^^ 
posticus, 

CRICOARYTiENOIDiEUS 
LATERALIS, 

Thyroarytenoid It dilates the Glottis. 

DEUS, 

Aryt^noid^us, It contracls the Glottis. 

Head, two pair. 

Splenius, ' "1 They move the head 

Complexus, j backwards. 

Rectus major, 1 They nod the head back- 

Rectus mwstor, j wards. 

Ob li qu us inferior, "j They perform the femi- 

Obliquus superior, > circular motion of the 

Mastoidaeus, j head. 

Rectus internus 1 

major, i They nod the head for- 

Rectus internus wards. 

MINOR, J 

Rectus lateralis, It nods the head to one 

fide. 

E 2 'Of 



52 



MUSCLES AND TENDONS. [PART tj 



Of the Thorax, twenty-nine pair. 

Intercostales in- 
terni et externi; 

SuBCLAVIUS, 

Serratus anticus They pull the ribs up- 
major, wards in infpiration. 

Serratus posticus 
superior, 

Triangularis, 

Serratus 



posticus f They make the motion 
inferior, \ of the . ribs down- 

wards, in expiration, 



Sacrolumbaris, 

DlAPHRAGMA, , 



the fwifter. 
Its ufe is both in infpira- 
tion, and expiration. 



Obliquus externus, 
Obliquus internus, 
Transversalis, 
Rectus, 
Pyramidalis, 



Lower Belly, five pair, 

'They comprefs all the 
parts contained in 
the lower belly; af- 
fitt the motion of 
the ribs downwards 
in expiration, and 
help to bend the 
Vertebrae of the loins 
forwards. 



Of the Vertebra, J even pair. 

Longissimus dorsi, It keeps the body erecl. 

Trans* 



PART I.] MUSCLES AND TENDONS. 53 

Trans versalis dor- Ir mqvea the body ob- 
si, liquely backwards. 

Interspinals, It draws the acute pro- 

cerus nearer one an- 
other. 

Quadratus lumbo- It draws the Vertebrae 
rum, of the loins to one 

fide. 

Longus, "J They bend the Vertebrae 

Scalenus, j of the neck. 

Psoas parvus, It helps to bend the 

Vertebrae of the loins. 

Cremaster, 

Erectoris penis, 

Tkansversalis pe- 
nis, 

acceleratores urinj£, 

Erectores clito- 

RIDIS, 

One Jingle Mufcle of the Bladder. 

Sphincter vesica, It contracts the neck of 

the bladder, that the 
urine may not run 
, continually. 

Of the Anus, three Jingle Mufcles. 
Levatores ani, They draw up the Anus. 

Sphincter ani, It (huts the Anus, 

E3 Of 



54 MUSCLES AND TENDONS. [PART I, 

Of the Shoulder -Hades. 

Serratus anticus It draws the fhoulder- 

minor, blade forwards. 

Trapezius, It moves it upwards, 

backwards, and down- 

wards. 
Rhomb o ides, It pulls it backwards. 

Levator scapula, It pulls the moulder- 

blade upwards. 

Of the Shoulder -h ones > nine pair. 

Deltoides, 

Supra spinatus, J> They lift the arm upwards. 

Coracobrachialis, 

Teres major, *] They pull the arm down- 

Latissimus dorsi, [ wards. 

Pectoralis, n It moves the arm forwards. 

Infra spinatus, ") 

rj, [ They draw the arm back- 

Transversalis, y J 

o wards. 

DUBSCAPULARIS, 

Cubiti, fix pair. 

Biceps, 

Brachi^us inter- J>They bend the fore arm. 

NUS, j 

Longus, 1 

Brevis, ! 

Bkachijeus exter- l The y extend the forc 

nus, :, arm - 

Ancom^us, j 

Of 



. 



PAItT I.] MUSCLES AND TENDONS. 55 

Of the Radii, four pair. 

They perform the mo- 



Rotundus, 

Ql'ADRATUS, 



LONGUS, 

Brevis, 



(The 

tion of Pronation, or 
•{ they turn the palm 
of the hand down 
wards. 
"They perform the mo- 
tion of Supination, 
^ or they turn the 
palm of the hand 



upwards. 
Wrijls, four pair. 

CUBITTEUS EXTER- | 

nus, >They bend the wrift. 

Radi^eus externus, J 

CuBITJEUS INTER- 1 

NUS ^ ^They extend the wrift. 

Radi^eus internus, j 

Of the Palms of the Hands, two pair. 

Pal maris, It helps the hand to grafp 

any thing clofely. , 

Palmaris brevis, It makes the palm of the 

hand concave. 



Of the Fingers, fifteen pair. 



Sublimis, 
Profundus, 



>They bend the fingers. 



E4 



Exten- 



56 muscles and tendons. [part i. 

Extensor digitorum 

comnunis, 
Lumbricalis, They aiTiffc in bending 

the firft joint of the 

fingers. 
Interossei intern^ They draw the fingers to 

the thumb. 
Interossei externa They draw the fingers 

from the thumb. 

The Particular Mufcles of the Thumbs are 

Seven. 
Flexor pollicis lon- 

GUS, 

Flexor pollicis bre- 

vis, 
Extensor primi, 

— - SECUNDI, 

tertii in- 

TERNODII, POLLI- 
CIS, 

Tenar,, It draws the thumb from 

the fingers. 

Antitenar, It draws the thumb ta 

the fingers. 

Of the Fore-fingers, two. 
Abductor indicis, 
Extensor indicis, 



Of 



PART I.] MUSCLES AND TENDONS. 



S7 



Of the Little-Jingers, two pair. 
Hypotenar, It draws the little finger 



from the reft. 



Extensor auricu- 
laris, 



They, bend the thigh. 



The Mufcks of the Thighs, are thirteen pair. 

Psoas, 

Iliacus, 

Pectin^us, 

Glut/Fus major, 
Gluteus medius, 
Gluteus minor, 
Triceps, 



They extend the thigh. 

It pulls the thigh in- 
wards. 



Pyripormis, 

Gemini, 

Quadratus, 

Obturator inter- 

NUS, 

Obturator exter- 

NUS, 



They move the thigh 
outwards. 



i 



They help to move the 
thigh obliquely, and 
circularly. 



Of the Legs, eleven pair. 

Semi-nervosus, 1 

Semi-membrano- ! 

SUS) >They bend the leg. 

Biceps, J 

Gsacillis, 



33 MUSCLES AND TENDONS. [pARTIt 

Gracilis, 
Rectus, 

Vastus externus, 1 

Vastus internus, >They extend the leg. 

Crurjeus, 

Sartor i us. It makes the legs crofs 

one another. 

PopLiTiEus, It turns the leg fome- 

what inwards. 

Memeranosus, It turns it a little out- 

wards. 



Of the Feet, eight pair. 

Tibialis anticus, 1 

^ >They bend the foot. 

PeRONjEUS ANTICUS, j 

Gastrocnemii, 1 

Soleus, ^They extend the foot. 

Plantaris, . J 

Tibialis posticus, It moveth the foot in 

wards. 

Peron.eus posticus, It moveth the foot out- 
wards. 



Of the Toes, twenty-four* 



Profundus, 
Sublimis, 
Lumbricalis, 
Long is, 
Brrvis, 



They bend the four lefler 



toes. 



J 

1 They extend the four 

j leffer toes. 

Flexor 



fart t.] muscles and tendcns. 5q 

Flexor pollicis, 

Extensor pullicis, 

Tenar, It draws the great toe 

from the reft. 
Antitenar, It draws it to the reft* 

Flexor pollici# 
longus, 

B RE VIS, 

Abductor minimi 

jdigiti, 
Interossei interni, They draw the toes to the 

great toe. 
Interossei extern^ They draw them from the 

great toe. 
Transversalis, It brings all the toes clofe 

to one another. 

In all 466 fingle mufcles in the body. 



CHAP. 



( 60 ) 



CHAP. VI. 

Of the Prop-Work; Bones; Ligaments, Car- 
tilages. 

HP 

JL HE ufe of the bones is to give fliape and firm- 

nefs to the body, to be levers for the mufcles to 
act upon, and to defend thofe parts from external 
injuries that are of greatefl confequence to be pre- 
served, as the brain, heart, 8tc. 

They are in their firft ftate very foft fibres, till 
by the addition of a matter, which is feparated from 
the blood into them, they grow by degrees to the 
hardnefs of a cartilage, and then perfect bone : 
but this great change is neither effected in a very 
fhort time, nor begun in all the parts of the fame 
bone at once. Flat bones, that have their fibres 
directed to all fides, begin to oflify in a middle 
point ; but thofe that have their fibres nearly pa- 
rallel, begin in a tranfverfe middle line, that is in 
the middle of each fibre ; and fo the cylindrical 
bones in a middle ring, from which they fhoot 
forth to their extremities. By the continual ad- 
dition of this offi tying matter, the bones increafe, 
till their hardnefs reiifis a farther extenfion, and 
becaufe their hardnefs is always increafing while 

they 



PART I.j OP THE PROP-WORK. 61 

they are growing, the increafe of their growth 
becomes flower and flower, till they ceafe to grow 
At all ; and at length in old or weak perfons, if I 
am not miftaken in my obfervations, they de- 
creafe as well as the flefhy parts, though not fo 
faft, by reafon of their hardnefs. And though I 
think it would be difficult to prove this, yet the 
poffibility of it at leaft will fufficiently appear 
from the following cafe : A foldier, from a fhot 
in his left groin, had the head of the Os Fe- 
moris broken, part of which came away through 
the wound, upon which the limb wafted, and he 
dying of an Anafarca about a year after, the Os 
Femoris was found wafted about an inch in 
length, but fo much in its thicknefs, that when 
they were both dried and fawed lengthways 
through their middles, the emaciated bone 
weighed thirty grains lefs than half the weight 
of the other thigh bone : from the appearance of 
this man, and the firm connection of all the 
bones with their Epiphyfes, he muft have done 
growing before he received this wound ; there- 
fore, unlefs he was taken lame into the fervice, 
which cannot be fuppofed, this bone muft have 
wafted about thus much in that time. The ofti- 
fying matter of the bones is fo well directed to 
them by fome wife law, that I have feen but one 
inftance of a bone in an adult body unofftfied, 
which was fo much of one fide of the lower jaw 
as is beyond the teeth ; but bony excrefcences 

upon 



62 OP THE PROP-WORK. [PART I. 

upon the bones are frequent, and even the flefhy 
parts, efpecially in old perfons, are fometimes 
©flified. In an old man that died of a mortifica- 
tion in his leg. I found all the arteries of the legs 
bony, efpecially between the divifions of the 
branches, and many parts of the Aorta. But the 
moft coniklerable inftance of thi's kind that I have 
ever found, was in the part of the mufcular fibres 
of the heart of a man, nearer its vertex than the bafe, 
as large as a fix-pence, which was perfectly oflified* 
And though it might feem that the bones, while 
they appear cartilaginous, differ from perfect bones 
only in hardnefs, yet in a fubjedt two years old 
that was kept in vinegar, all the bones grew nearly 
as foft and pliable as the flcfhy parts, though the 
ikin in feveral piaces was not taken off; yet the 
cartilages and cartilaginous Epiphyfes of the 
bones were but little altered. 

Bones that arc without motion, as thofe of the 
fcull, the Ofla. Innominata, &c. alfo bones with 
their Epiphyfes, when they meet, prefs into each 
other, and form futures, which foon difappear in 
thofe that join, while their oflilic matter is foft ; 
but thofe that grow harder before they meet, 
prefs more rudely into each other, and make 
more uneven futures, fome of which in the fcull 
endure to the greateft age ; and very often the 
oflilic matter not flowing far enough to complete 
a bone, the part uncompleted has an oflification 
begun in its center, and is formed into a diflinct 

bone* 



FART I.] OF THE I>ROP-WORK. 

bone, which may happen to be of any figure. 
Thefe bones are oftenelt found in the lambdoidal 
future, and are called Oiia Triquetra. But the 
ends or fides of bones that are intended for mo- 
tion, are hindered from uniting, by the cartilages 
which cover them ; for when thefe cartilages are 
deflroyed they very readily unite, and become a 
diftemper called Ancylofis. 

The ends of all the bones that are articulated 
for very manifeft motions, or that are not placed 
againit other bones, are tipped with ipiphyfes, 
or additional bones, which in fome meafure de- 
termine their growth and figure ; for if they had 
nothing to give bounds to them; they would 
fhoot out like the Callus from the broken ends of 
a bone that is not fet, and grow more ragged than 
the edges of bones which are joined by futures ; 
and fometimes Epiphyfes are made ufe of to raife 
procefles upon bones for the infertions of muf- 
cles, as the Trochanters of the thigh bones, where 
it would weaken the bones too much to have pro- 
ceffes raifed out of their fubflance. 

The fibres of bones, for ought that we can dif-* 
cover from experiments or microfcopical obferva- 
tions, appear to be connected to each other by 
the fame means that the feveral parts of a fibre 
are connected, that is, by that ftrong attraction 
which belongs to particles of matter in contact : 
but this coheiion of fibre to fibre is not equal to 
that in the parts of a fibre, though very nearly. 

Indeed, 



64 OF THE PROP-WORE. [PART t* 

Indeed, if it was, a bone would not be a frac- 
ture of fibres, but one uniform mafs, like that of 
any pure metal, the cohefion of the parts of 
which are every way alike : nor are the parts of 
bones difpofed into Lamellae, ftratum fuper ftra^ 
turn, as fome have painted ; for though young 
bones may in fome places be fplit into Lamellae, 
yet they not only appear one folid, uniform mafe 
to the naked eye, but even with a microlcope, till 
we come to their inner fpongy texture, which 
alfo appears uniform. 

The texture of the bones when firft formed, 
is every where loole and fpongy, but, as they in- 
creafe, they become in many places very com- 
pact and denfe, which refults in a great meafure 
from the preffure of the bellies of the mufcles, 
and other incumbent parts ; as appears from the 
impreflions which are made on the furfaces of the 
bones, and the rough fpines that rife on the bones 
in the interfaces of the mufcles, which are very re- 
markable in the bones of men who have been 
bred up in hard labour. In thofe parts of the flat 
bones that receive but little preffure, the outer 
Laminae only become compact and denfe, and 
the middle part remains ipongy ; but where the 
preffure is great, they become one denfe body or 
table ; and this preffure is fo effectual, that fome 
parts of the Scapula, and the middle of the Ilium, 
are ufually thinner in an adult body than in a 
child before it is born. The cylindrical or 

round 



part i.] op the prop-Work. 6.5 

round bones being prefTed mod in their middle, 
become there very hard and flrong, while their 
extremities grow fpongy, and dilate into large 
heads, which make ftronger joints, and give more 
room for the origins and infertions of the muf- 
cles, and increafe the power of the mufcles, by 
removing their axis farther from the center of 
motion of any joint they move. 

All the bones, except fo much of the teeth as 
are out of the fockets, and thofe parts of other 
bones, which are either covered with cartilage, or 
where mufcles or ligaments arife or are inferted, or 
are covered with a fine membrane, which, upon 
the fcull, is called Pericranium, elie where Periof- 
teum : one ufe of which is for the mufcles to flide 
eafily upon, and to hinder them from being la- 
cerated by the roughnefs and hardnefs of the 
bones. This membrane is faid to be exceedingly 
fenfible of pain, which, I fuppofe, is imagined 
from the pain that a blow on the min gives: but 
it fhould be confidered how much greater the 
contufion is in that cafe, from its lying upon a 
hard body; for this is certain, that when this 
membrane is cut, or feparated from the bone, to 
prepare for the operation of the Trephine, the 
patient never difcovers any extraordinary uneafi- 
nefs, and that great pain which is fometimes felt 
at the fawing the bones or a bone in an amputa- 
tion, is when the teeth of the lav/ touch the great 
nerves that always lie near the bones, and not 

F from 



66 OF THE PROP- WORK. [PART I. 

from the Perioiteum ; for, if it proceeded from 
that, this complaint would be more conftant, and 
at leaft as great at the firft fetting on of the faw, 
or at the laft ftroke, as at any other time. 

Every cylindrical bone has a large middle ca- 
vity, which contains an oily marrow, and a great 
number of fraaller cells towards their extremities, 
which contain a bloody marrow ; this bloody 
marrow is alfo found in all fpongy cells of bones. 
The ufe of the firft kind of marrow is to foften, 
and render lefs brittle the harder fibres of bones 
among which it is feated ; and the other marrow 
is to be of the lame ule to the lefs compact fibres, 
for an oily marrow might have made them too 
ibft ; and for this realbn, there is lefs of the oily 
marrow, and more of the bloody in young bones 
than in old ones. Every one of thele cells is lined 
with a fine membrane, and the marrow in the 
larger cells is alio contained in thin membranous 
veticles, in which membranes, I fuppofe, thofe 
veJiels lie that iecrete the marrow. If the bones 
had been formed of the fame quantity of mattes 
without any cavities, they would, if they were 
itreight, be able to luftain the fame weight that 
they now can : but they being made hollow, 
their ftrength, fo as to reli ft breaking tranfverfelv, 
is encreafed as much as their diameters are en- 
creafed, without encreaiing their weights, which 
mechanifm being yet more convenient for birds, 
the bones of their wings, and. for the fame reafon. 

their 



PART I.] OF THE PROP-WORK. #7 

their quills, have very large cavities. But the 
bones of the legs of all animals are more folid, 
being formed to fupport weight ; and men's bodies, 
being fupported but by two limbs, the bones of 
their limbs, are therefore made more folid than 
thofe of quadrupeds. But in a fractured bone, 
in which the fame kind of matter that offified the 
bones at firft, is thrown out from the ends of the 
broken bone, there is made a mafs of callous mat- 
ter, of equal fblidity with any part of the bone, 
and of equal Or greater diameter; which will 
make the ftrength of the bone in that place 
greater than it was before : and if we confider, 
we fhall find this a very wife provifion ; for bones, 
when broken, are feldom or never fet in fo good a 
direction as that in which they were firft formed, 
and therefore they would be more liable to be 
broken in the fame place again, and would be re- 
united with greater difficulty, and fometimes not 
at all, becaufe the callus not being vafcular, 
would fcarce admit the offinc matter to flow 
through it to form a new callus. 

The names of the articulations of the bones 
being varioufly ufed by authors, and being but of 
fmall confequence, I give the iliortefr. account 
that I can of them. An articulation for mani- 
fell motion, is called Diarthrofis ; for obicure 
motion, Synchondroses ; and that kind which is 
without motion, Synarthrofis. 

Diarthrofis, is divided into two kinds, viz. 
¥ 2 Enarthrofis 



6S ' OF THE PROP-WORK, [PART I# 

Enarthrofis and Ginglymus. Enarthrolis is where 
a round head is received into a round cavity, 
which mechanics call the ball and focket ; though 
none of the articulations in a human body fully 
referable that, unlefs the upper end of the thigh 
bone, with the Gs Innominatum. Ginglymus is 
always defcribed by authors to be where a bone 
receives, and is received, which is right, where 
they are joined fpmewhat like hinge?, as the ob- 
lique procefles of the Vertebra of the loins, where 
authors ufually take two joints to make a Ginglv- 
mus, that it may aniwer their defcriptions, though 
any one of thole joints is a true Ginglymus. But 
in the other Vertebra, and in the articulation 
of the Ulna, with Os Humeri, and that of 
the Radius with the Ulna, there being only 
the motion of hinges, without the form to give 
thefe joints this denomination; we may, for the 
fame reafon, call every joint a Gin ^lymus, whole 
proper!) i s on ly to 1 end and extend, as the k; 
ankle, &c, And what makes it more n* 
to bring thefe joints under this head, is. that they 
are reducible to no other. 

Synchdndrofis, is by intervening car til 
ligaments, as between i 1 e 3 oi the Verte- 

bra ; but the trued Synchondrosis is the joining 
of the ribs to the bqne of the ftcrnum. 

Synarthrosis, is of two viz. Sutura and 

Gompholis. The firft kind is the mutual inden- 
tation 



PART I.] OF THE PROP-WORK. 69 

tation of one bone with another, as is eminently 
fcQn in the fcull, and the other the fattening of the 
teeth in their lockets* like a nail in wood. 

The Bones of the Head. 

Anatomists divide the bones into thofe of the 
head, thofe. of the trunk, thole of the upper 
limbs, and thofe of the lower limbs. 

The fcull is compofed of ten bones which con- 
tain the brain. In various parts of thefe there are 
pafl'ages and finall holes for the communication 
of the nerves/ arteries, and veins with the other 
parts of the body. The other bones of the 
head compofe the face, the orbits of the eyes, 
and the jaws, in which the teeth are fixed. 
There are feldom more than iixteen in each jaw ; 
the four firft in each are called incifors or cutters, 
the two next canine, and all the reft molares or 
grinders. The four laft of the molares are called 
Dentes Sapientias, becaufe they do not appear till 
men arrive at years of clifcretion. The incifors 
and canine have only a fingle root each, but the 
molares more. Each of thefe fangs or roots has 
a hole ; through which pafs an artery, vien, and 
nerve, which are expanded in a fine membrane 
lining a cavity in each root of a tooth. This 
membrane is the feat of the tooth-ach. The 
teeth of children caft off; and the fucceeding 
teeth rife in new fockets, and larger than the 
former. 

F 3 The 



70 OF THE PROP-WORK. [PART X. 

The Bones of the Trunk , 

Are thofe which compofe the fpine, or chain 
of bones from the head down to the rump, the ribs, 
and the fternum, or breaft bone. 

The fpine is compofed of twenty-four verte- 
brae or joints befides the terminating bones ; 
feven belong to the neck, twelve to the back, 
and five to the loins If this chain had been 
compofed of fewer bones, they muft either have 
been incapable of bending fo much as they do, 
or bent at fharper angles, which would have 
prefTcd the fpiral marrow. The bodies of the 
vertebrae are all connected by ftrong intervening 
ligaments or cartilages, and every bone of the 
fpine has a large hollow, which together make a 
channel through the fpine, in which is contained 
the Medulla Spinalis, or fpinal marrow ; and in 
each fpace between the vertebrae are two large holes 
for the nerves to pafs out. 

The ribs are twelve in number on each fide ; 
the feven uppermoft are called true ribs, bexaufe 
their cartilages reach the fternum ; and the five 
lowcft are called battard ribs. They are articu- 
lated to the bodies of the twelve vertebrae of the 
back. They defend the parts contained in the 
breaft, and when they are drawn upwards, the 
cavity of the breaft is enlarged for infpiration, and 
fo the contrary. 

The breaft bone, or fternum, is generally made 

up 



PART !."] OF THE rROP-^ORK. 73 

up of three fpongy bones, fornetimes more : to 
this the true ribs are articulated by their car- 
tilages. 

The Bones of the Upper Limbs, 
Are all thofe that form and are more particu- 
larly connected with the arms and hands. The 
collar-bone fixes the blade bone, which receives 
in a fliallow cavity the round head of the 
fhoulder-bone, into which are articulated the 
arm-bones, called Ulna audi Radius. Radius at 
the lower end receives the lower part of Ulna^ 
and the wrift or carpus. The wrift is compofed 
of eight bones of irregular figure ; they are dif- 
tinguiilied into four of the firft order, and four 
of the fecond. The bones that form the hand, 
are metacarpus, confiding of four bones articu- 
lated to the wrift, the thumb which has three 
bones, and the fingers each alfo compofed of 
three. 

The Bones of the Lower Limbs, 

Are thofe of the hips, thighs, and legs. The 
knee-pan protects the ligaments that connect the 
thigh-bone with the fhin-bone, or Tibia ; the 
lower end of the Tibia forms the inner ankle. 
There is a fmall long bone called Fibula, the up- 
per end of which is articulated to the outfide of 
the Tibia, and inch below the joint, and the 
lower end makes the outer ankle, and part of that 

F 4 joint; 



72 OF THE PROP-WORK. [PART I. 

joint ; its chief ufe is for origins of mufcles ; for 
it has no fhare in fupporting the body. The 
Tarfus, which forms the union of the feet with 
the bones of the leg, is made up of feven bones, 
which have the fame kind of elailic flructure 
with thofe of the wrifr. or carpus, and for the 
fame ends, but in a much greater degree, be- 
caufe here the whole body is fuftained. There 
are four bones running from the Tarfus to the 
toes ; they are called Metatarfus. All the toes 
have three bones each. 



The Bones 


of a Skeleton, are, 




The Os Frontis 


1 


Molares 


20 


Occipitis 


1 


Os Hyoides 


l 


OfTa Parietalia 


2 




— 


Temporum 


2 




6l 


Official a Auditus 


8 


Vertebrae Cervicis 


7 


Os Ethmoides 


1 


Dorfi 


12 


Sphaenoides 


1 


Lumborum 


5 


Mali 


2 


Oflis Sacri 


6 


Maxillare 


2 


Os Coccigis 


3 


Unguis 


2 


Scapulae 


2 


Nafi 


2 


Claviculae 


2 


Palati 


2 


Coftae 


24 


Vomer 


1 


Sternum 


1 


Maxilla Inferior 


1 


OfTa Innominata 


2 


Dentes incifivi 


8 




— 


Canini 


1 




64 



The 



PART I.] OF 


THE PROP-WORK. 


73 


The Humerus 


'2 


The Os Femofis 


2 


Ulna 


2 


Rotate 


2 


Kadi us 


2 


Tibia 


2 


Qfla Corpi 


1(5 


Fibula 


2 


Metacarpi 


8 


Ofla Tarfi 


14 


Digitorum 


30 


Metatarfi 


10 




— 


Digitorum 


as 



6o 



6o 



In all 245 



Befides the OfTa Sefamoidasa, which are faid to 
be found to the number 48. 



Of the Cartilages ', Ligaments, and lubricating 
Glands of the Joints. 

Every part of a bone which is articulated to 
another bone for a Hiding motion is covered or [ 
lined with a cartilage, as far as it moves upon, or 
is moved upon by another bone in any action ; 
for cartilage being fmoother and fofter than bone, 
it renders the motions more eafy than they would 
have been, and prevents the bones wearing each 
other in their aclions. Thefe cartilages in the 
largell joints, are as thick as a (lulling, and in the 
fmalleft, as thin as paper. 

There are other cartilages which ferve to give 
fhape to parts. Of this fort are the eye-lids, the 
outer ea^ and the lower part of the nofe, which 

have 



74 OF THE PROP-WORK. [PART I. 

have this particular advantage in thefe places, 
that they fupport and fhape the parts as well 
as bones do, and without being liable to be 
broken. 

The ribs have cartilages of a considerable 
length, which articulate the. feven uppermoft to 
the breaft-bone. Thefe cartilages being very 
pliable, fuffer the ribs to move eafily in refpira- 
lion, and the body to twift or bend to either fide 
without difficulty. There is a cartilage at the 
bottom of the breaft-bone, called Enliformis from 
its ufual fhape* 

The wind-pipe is compofed of cartilages, and 
there are other parts called by fome cartilages, 
which ought rather to be ranked with ligaments. 

Every bone that is articulated to another for 
motion, is tied to that it moves upon by a liga- 
ment, the thicknefs and ftrength of which always 
bears a proportion to the quantity of motion in 
the joint, and the force with which it is liable to 
be moved; and the length of the ligament is no 
more than fufricient to allow a proper quantity 
of motion. 

The bones of the limbs that move to all fides,, 
have ligaments like purfes, which arife from or 
near the edges of the fockets of the receiving 
bones, a little below their heads. 

All the bones of the Vertebra?, and every joint 
that is without motion, and not joined by a lu- 

ture, 



PART I.] OP THE PROP-WORK. 75 

ture, are joined by intervening ligaments com- 
monly called cartilages. 

The tendons of all the mufcles that are not in- 
volved in fat, are either tied down to the bones 
they pafs over by ligaments which contain a lu- 
bricating Mucus, or have fometimes communica- 
tions with the joint they move. The ufe of thefe 
ligaments is to confine them to their proper di- 
rections, and contain the Mucus that lubricates 
their furfaces to make their motions more eafy. 

Every joint where the bones are faced with a 
cartilage for a Aiding motion, is furnifhed with 
fmall glands, which feparate a mucilaginous 
matter for lubricating the ends of the bones, 
that they may move eafily upon one another, and 
that there may be no wafle of this neceflary fluid, 
it is contained in the inverting ligaments ; which 
for this very reafon are no where divided, except 
to communicate with the ligaments of tendons. 

Thefe glands are generally feated near the in- 
fertions of the ligaments, that they may be com- 
prefTed by them when the joints are in motion, 
which is a proper time to have their fluid prefled 
out. 



CHAPTER 



( 76 ) 



CHAPTER VII. 

Of the External Parts, common Integuments, 
and Fat. 

1. HE vulgar names of the external parts of the 
human body being fufticiently known for the 
description of any difeafe or operation ; I fhail 
only defcribe thofe which anatomifts have given 
for the better undcrftanding of the iub-con- 
tained parts. 

The hollow on the middle of the Thorax, un- 
der the breafts, is called Scrobiculus Cordis. The 
middle of the Abdomen for about three fingers 
breadth above and below the navel, is called Re- 
gie Umbilicalis. The middle pajrt above this, 
Epigaltrium. On each fide of ii. iftrium, 

under the cartilages of the lower r.ibs, Ilypochon- 
drium ; and from below the Rtogio Umbilicalis 
down to the Offa Ilia, and Ofla Pubis, Hypo- 
galirium. 

Cuticula or Scarf- (kin, is that thin infenfible 
membrane which is railed by bliflers in living bo- 
dies : It is extended over every part of the true 
., unlefs where the nails are. It appears 
in a microfcrope a very fine, fmooth mem- 
bra 



P.ART I.] OF THE EXTERNAL PARTS, &C. 77 

brane, only unequal where the Reticulum Mu- 
codim adheres to it. Lewenhocck and others, 
fay, it appears fcaly, and compute that a grain of 
find of the hundredth part of an inch diameter, 
will cover two hundred and fifty of thefe fcales, 
and that each fcale has about five hundred pores ; 
fo that, according to them, a grain of land will 
cover one hundred and twenty- five thoufand pores, 
through which we perfpire. Its ufe is to defend the 
true fkin that it may not be expofed to pain from 
whatever it touches ; and alfo to preferve it from 
wearing : It is thickeil on thole parts of the bot- 
tom of the foot which fuftain the body ; and in 
hands much ufed to labour, being fo contrived as 
to grow the thicker, the more thofe parts are ufed. 
Between this and the true fkin, is a fmall quan- 
tity of flimy matter, which was fuppofed, by 
Malpighi, and others, to be contained in proper 
vefTels, interwoven with one another, and there- 
fore by them named Reticulum Mucofum. It is 
moil considerable where the cuticula is* thickeft, 
and is black, white, or dufky, fuch as is the 
complexion ; the colour of this, and the cuticula, 
being the only difference between Europeans, 
and Africans or Indians, the fibres of the true 
Ikin being white in all men ; but the florid co- 
lour of the cheeks, is owing to the blood in the 
minute vefTels of the Ikin, as that in the lips to 
the vclfels in the mufcular ilefh ; for the Cuticula 
(as I imagine) being made of excrementidous 
matter has no blood vefleb. 

Cutis 



?S OF THE EXTERNAL PARTS, [PART 1, 

Cutis or True Skin, is a very compact, ftrong, 
and fenfible membrane extended over all the 
other parts of the body, having nerves terminat- 
ing fo plentifully in all its fuperficies, for the 
fenfe of touching, that the fineft pointed inftru- 
ment can prick no where without touching fome 
of them. Thefe nerves are faid by Malpighi, 
and others, who have examined them carefully, 
to terminate in fmall pyramidal Papillae ; never- 
thelefs to me it feems, that a plain fuperficies of 
the ikin (I do not mean mathematically plain) 
is much fitter and more agreeable to what we ex- 
perience of this fenfation ; for a plain fuperficies 
expofing all the nerves alike, I think, would give 
a more equal fenfation, while nerves ending in a 
pyramidal Papilla would be exceedingly fenfible at 
the Vertex of that Papilla ; and thofe at the fides 
and round the bafe, which would be far the 
greater! part, would be the leaft ufeful. 

Glandulae Miliares, are fmall bodies like millet 
feeds, feated immediately under the Ikin in the 
Axillas ; and are faid to have been found under 
all other parts of the fkin, where they have been 
looked for with microfcopes. Thefe glands are 
fuppoled to feparate fweat ; which fluid was 
formerly thought to be only the Materia Perfpi- 
rabilis flowing in a greater quantity, and con- 
denfed ; but Sanolorius has affured us, that it is 
not fo, and that more of the Materia Perfpira- 
bilis is feparated in equal times than of fweat ; of 

the 



PART I.] COMMON INTEGUMENTS, AND PAT. 1% 

the former, he fays, ufually fifty ounces a day in 
Italy, where his experiments were made, and of 
the latter not near fo much in the moft profufc 
fweats ; which, I think, favours the opinion of 
the exiftence of thefe glands, unlefs the fweat 
being once condenfed upon the fkin, prevents a 
greater etfulion of that matter. Now that the 
whole body, every part of which is furely perfpi- 
rable (or how elfe could extra vafatcd blood or 
matter ever be diflipated, unlefs it could be ab- 
sorbed into the veffels, which feems impoflible, 
feeing that the fluids which are in motion in the 
veffels muft out-balance thofe which are extrava- 
fatedy fhould perfpire fifty two ounces in a natural 
day, is not at all incredible : but that thefe 
glands, if there are fuch under all the ikin, fhould 
be able to make fo large fecretions, appears not 
very probable. 

Membrana Adipofa, is all that membrane im- 
mediately under the ikin, which contains the fat 
in cells ; it is thicker!; on the Abdomen and but- 
tocks, and thinneft neareft the extremities ; and 
where the mufcles adhere to the Ikin none. It 
contributes to keep the inner parts warm, and by 
rilling the interfaces of the mufcles, renders the 
furface of the body fmooth and beautiful, and 
may perhaps ferve to lubricate their furfaces, and 
whether the decreafe of fat which often follows 
labour or ficknefs, proceeds from its being reaf- 
fumed into the blood veffels, or whether it is con- 

ftantly 



SO OF THE EXTERNAL PARTS, &C. [PART U 

ftantly perfpiring through the fkin, and the lefTen- 
ing of its quantity is from the want of a fupply 
equal to its confumption, is a matter of doubt 
with fome, though the former opinion generally 
prevails. 

Mammae, the breafts, feem to be of the fame 
flruclure in both fexes, but larger in women. 
Each breaft is a conglomerate gland to feparate 
milk, feated in the Membrana Adipofa, with its 
excretory duels, (which are capable of very great 
diftention,) tending toward the nipple, where, as 
they approach, they unite, and make but a few 
duels at their exit. There are to be met with 
in authors, infrances fufficiently attefted of mc 
giving fuck, when they have been excited by a 
vehement deli re of doing it : and it is a common 
obfervation, that milk will flow out of the breafts 
of new-born children, both male and female. 



CHAPTER 



( 81 ) 



CHAPTER VIII. 



Of the Membranes. 

JtliVERY diftinft part of the body is covered, 
every cavity is lined with a fingle membrane, 
vvhofe thicknefs and ftrength is as the bulk of the 
part it belongs to, and as the friction to which it 
is naturally expofed. 

Thofe membranes that contain diftincl: parts, 
keep the parts they contain together, and render 
their furfaces fmooth, and lefs fubject to be la- 
cerated by the actions of the body. And thofe 
which line cavities, ferve to render the cavities 
fmooth, and fit for the parts they contain to move 
againft. 

The membranes of all the cavities that contain 
folid parts, are iludded with glands, or are pro- 
vided with vefTels, which feparate a Mucus to 
make the parts contained move glibly againft one 
another, and not grow together. And thofe ca- 
vities which are expofed to the air, as the nofe, 
ears, mouth, and Trachea Arteria, have their 
membranes befet with glands, which feparate mat- 
ter to defend them from the outer air. 

G I mail 



82 OF THE MEMBRANES. [PART I* 

I fhall here give a brief defcription of the prin- 
cipal membranes of the body. 

Membrana adipofa, we have juft feen, is a 
membrane immediately under the fkin which 
contains the fat. See the hji Chapter. 

Peritoneum, is a membrane which lines the 
whole cavity of the abdomen. It contains the 
liver, fpleen, omentum, ftomach, guts, and me- 
fentery, with all their veflels and glands. 

Omentum, or cawl, is a fine membrane larded 
with fat, fomething like net-work. It is fituated 
on the furface of the fmall guts. Its ufe is to lu- 
bricate the guts that they may the better perform 
their periltalic motion. 

Mefentery, is a membrane beginning loofely 
upon the loins, and is thence produced to all the 
guts : it preferves the jejunum and ileum from 
twifting in their periftallic or vermicular motion, 
and confines the reft. It mftains all the veifels 
going to and from the guts, viz. arteries, veins, 
lymph reduces, lacteals, and nerves, and alfo con- 
tains many glands. 

Pleura, is a fine membrane which lines the 
whole cavity of the thorax, except on the dia- 
phragm, which is covered with no other than its 
own membrane. It ferves to make the iniide of 
the thorax fmooth and equal. 

Mediaftinum, divides the thorax lengthways, 
from the fternum to the pericardium and pleura, 

not 



PART I.] OP THE MEMBRANES. 83 

not exactly in the middle, but towards the left 
fide. It hinders one lobe of the lungs from in- 
commoding the other, as in lying on one fide 
the uppermoft would frequently do, and prevents 
the diforders of one lobe of the lungs from afFect- 
the other. 

Pericardium, or heart purfe, is a thick mem- 
brane furrounding the heart. 

Periofteum, the fine membrane which covers 
the bones in general, taking the name of Peri- 
cranium on the fkull, has been mentioned in the 
chapter on the bones. 

Dura Mater, and Pia Mater, have been men., 
t-ioned in the chapter on the brain. 



G 2 CHAPTER 



( 84 ) 



CHAPTER IX. 



Of the Organs of Speech; Lungs, Refpiration. 



X HE voice is that found which animals make 
by proper organs in confequence of fome fenfa- 
tion or inward pulfe. 

The voice of man, and, it mould feem, of all 
other animals, is formed by certain organs be- 
tween the mouth and the lungs, and which or- 
gans maintain the intercourfe between thefe two. 
The lungs furnifh air, out of which the voice is 
formed ; and the mouth, when the voice is 
formed, ferves to publifh it abroad. 

What thefe vocal organs precisely are, is not 
in all refpects agreed by philofophcrs and anato- 
mifls. Be this as it will, it is certain that the 
mere primary and fimpk voice is completely formed, 
before ever it reaches the mouth, and can therefore, 
as well as breathing, find a pafia^e through the 
nofe, when the mouth is fo far flopped, as to pre- 
vent the leafl utterance. 

Now pure and fimple voice, being thus pro- 
duced, is, as before was obferved, tranfmitted to 
the mouth. Here then by means of certain dif- 
ferent organs, which do not change its primary 

qualities. 



PARTI.] OF THE ORGANS OF SPEECH, &C, 85 

qualities, but only fuperadd others, it receives 
the form or character of Articulation-. For 
Articulation is in fact nothing elfe than that 
form or characler acquired to Jim fie voice, by means 
of the mouth and its feveral organs, the teeth, the 
tongue, the lips, &c. The voice is not by arti- 
culation made more grave or acute, more loud or 
foft, which are its primary qualities, but it ac- 
quires to thefe characters certain others additional, 
which are perfectly adapted to exijl along with 
them. 

The fimplejl of thefe new characters are thofe 
acquired through mere openings of the mouth, as 
thefe openings differ in giving the voice a paf- 
fage. It is the variety of configurations in thefe 
openings only, which gives birth and origin to the 
feveral vowels ; and hence it is they derive their 
name, by being thus eminently vocal, and eafy to 
"be founded of themfelves alone. 

There are other articulate forms, which the 
mouth makes not by mere openings, but by dif- 
ferent contacls of its different parts ; fuch, for in- 
ftance, as it makes by the junction of the two 
lips, of the tongue with the teeth, of the tongue 
with the palate, and the like. 

Now as all thefe feveral contacts, unlefs fome 

opening of the mouth either immediately precede, 

or immediately follow, would rather occafion fi- 

lence, than produce a voice ; hence it is, that 

G 3 with 



$6 OF THE ORGANS OF SPEECH ; [PART I. 

with fome fuch opening, either previous or fub- 
fequent, they arc always connedted. Hence alfo 
it is, that the articulation fo produced are called 
Consonant, becaufe they found not of them- 
felves, and from their own powers, but at all 
times in company with fome auxiliary Vowel. 

There are other fubordinate diftinctions of 
thefe primary articulations, which to enumerate 
would be foreign to the defign of this treatife. 

It is enough to obferve, that they are all de- 
noted by the common name of Element, in as 
much as every articulation of every other kind is 
from them deiived, and into them refolved. 
Under their fnallejl combinations they produce a 
Syllable', Syllable , properly combined, produce a 
Word i Words, properly combined, produce a 
Sentence ; and Sentences, properly combined, pro- 
duce an Or align or Difcourfe. 

And thus it is, that to principles apparently fo 
trivial, as about twenty plain elementary founds, 
we owe that variety of articulate voices, which 
have been iufficient to explain the fentiments of 
fo innumerable a muhitude, as all the prefent 
and pan: generations of men. 

The lungs, are compofed of two lobes, one 
feated on each fide of a membrane called the 
Mediaftinum, that divides the thorax lengthways, 
each of which lobes are fubdivided into two or 
three lobules, which are moft diftinelly divided 
in fuch animals as have moft motion in their 

backs, 



PART I.] LUKGS, RESPIRATION. S 7 

backs, for the fame end that the liver is in the 
fame animals ; they are each compofed of very 
fmall cells, which are the extremities of the Al- 
pera Arteria or Bronchos. The figure of thefe 
cells is irregular ; yet they are fitted to each other? 
fo as to have common fides, and leave no void 
fpace. In the membranes of thefe cells are di- 
flributed the branches of the pulmonary artery 
and vein. The known ufes of the air's entering 
the lungs, are to be inftrumental in fpeech, and 
to convey effluvia into the nofe, as it paffes, for 
the fenfe of fmelling ; but the great ufe of it by 
which life is preferved, I think, we do not un- 
derftand. By fome the force of the air is thought 
to feparate the Globuli of the blood, that have 
cohered in the flow circulation through the veins ; 
and this opinion feems to be favoured by the 
many inftances of Polypuffes (which are large 
concretions of the Globuli of the blood) found in 
the veins near the heart, and in the right auricle 
and ventricle of the heart, and their being fo fel- 
dom found in the pulmonary veins, or in the left 
auricle or ventricle of the heart, or in any of I he 
arteries ; but if it is true that, while the blood 
paffes through the lungs, many cohering Globuli 
are feparated, yet it remains to be proved that 
thefe feparations are made by the force of the air. 
Dr. Keil has computed the force of the air in the 
ftrongeft expirations againft the fides of all the 
veficles, to be equal to fifty thoufand pounds 

G 4 weight, 



88 OF THE ORGANS OP SPEECH ; [PARTI. 

weight, yet if we confider we fhall Pall find the 
moment of the air in the lungs exceedingly fmall in 
any fmall fpace. For the velocity with which the 
air moves in the lungs, is as much lefs than that 
with which it moves in die wind pipe, as the 
fquare of a fection of the cells in the lungs is 
greater than the fquare of a feci ion of the wind- 
pipe ; and therefore if the fquare of all the ex- 
treme blood veilels in the lungs, do not bear a 
greater proportion to the fquare of the large 
pulmonary vefTels than the fquare of the cells do 
to the wind-pipe, and if the blood in thefe large 
vefTels moves as fan: as the air in the wind-pipe . 
(all which I think may be granted) then the 
blood moving in the fmalleft vefTels of the lungs 
with a velocity equal to that of the air in the cells, 
the blood will have as much more prefTure from 
the power that moves it in its own vefTels than the 
air can give upon them, as blood is heavier than 
air. Befides, air preffing equally to all fides, and 
the Globuli of the blood iwimming in a fluid ; 
this prefTure, be it what it will, I think, can be 
of little ufe to make fuch reparations. Indeed it 
may be objecled that the greateft prefTure is in 
expiration, yet that furely cannot be much greater, 
while the air has lb free a paiTage out of them # 
Others have thought that the air enters the blood 
vefTels from the cells in the lungs, and mixes 
with the blood ; but this opinion, however pro- 
bable, wants fufficient experiments to prove it ; 

ai r 



PART I.] LUNGS, RESPIRATION. 80 

air being found in the blood, as there certainly is, 
is no proof of its entering this way, ' becaufe it 
may enter with the chyle : Nor is the impoflibi- 
lity which has been urged of its entering at the 
lungs without the blood being liable to come out 
the fame way into the veficles of the lungs, a 
good argument to the contrary ; for if a pliable 
duel pafles between the membranes of a vefTel, 
through a fpace greater than the fquare of its ori- 
fice, nofluid can return, becaufe the pretTure which 
fhould force it back will be greater againft the 
.fides of that duel than its orifice ; which is the 
cafe of the bile duel entering the Duodenum, and 
the ureters entering the bladder. I think the 
beft arguments for the air's entering into the 
blood by the lungs, or rather fome particular part 
of the air, may be drawn from what the learned 
Dr. Halley, and others have obferved of a man's 
wanting in a diving bell, near a gallon of frefh. 
air in a minute, for if nothing but preiTure had 
been wanted from the air in the lungs, there may 
be thrice as much prefTure without any fupply 
of frefh air, as upon the furface of the earth ; and 
animals dying fo foon in air that has been burnt, 
and their being fo eafily intoxicated by breathing 
air much impregnated with fpirituous liquors, are 
alfo, in my opinion, arguments of a pafTage this 
way into the blood. Befides, if prefTure of the air 
in the cells of the lungs is the only ufe of it, I do 
not fee but enough of that may be had while a 

man' 



90 OF THE ORGANS OF SPEECH, &C. [pART I, 

man is hanging, if the mufcles of the thorax do 
bat acl upon the air which was left in the thorax, 
when the rope was firft fixed, and yet death is 
brought about by hanging no other way than 
by interrupting of the breath, as I have found by 
certain experiments. Dr. Drake has endeavoured 
to fhew, that the ufe of refpiration is to affill the 
Syftale of the heart ; but this ufe requires that the 
Syftole and Diaftole of the heart, mould keep 
time with expiration and infpiration, which is 
contrary to experience : befides, if his hypothesis 
were true, it could only ferve theright ventricle of 
the heart. The lungs of animals before they have 
been dilated with air, are fpecifically heavier than 
water, but upon inflation they become fpecifically 
lighter and fwim in water. 



CHAPTER 



( 91 ) 



CHAPTER X. 

Of the Blood, Heart, Arteries, and Veins. 

JL HE blood is a compound fluid, confiding of 
red and white globules, fibrous particles, and a 
great deal of clear water which ferves as a vehicle 
to the other fubrtances circulating through the 
body by means of the heart, arteries, and veins. 

The heart is a mufcle of a conic figure incloied 
in the Pericardium or heart-purfe, which is an 
exceedingly flrong membrane, the fide of which 
next the great veffels is partly connected to them, 
and partly to the balls of the heart ; but, I think, 
not properly perforated by thofe vefTels, and its 
lower fide is inteparable from the tendinous part 
of the diaphragm ; but not fo in brutes, in fome 
of which there is a membranous bag between it 
and the diaphragm, which contains a lobule of 
the lungs. It enclofes all the heart to its bafis; 
its ufes are to keep the heart in its place, without 
interrupting its office, to keep it from having any 
friction with the lungs, and to contain a liquor to 
lubricate the furface of the heart, and abate its 
friction againft the Pericardium. 

The 



92 OF THE BLOOD, HEART, [PART I. 

The heart has two cavities or ventricles ; its 
bafis is fixed by the veffels going to and from it, 
upon the fourth and fifth Vertebras of the Tho- 
rax; its Apex, or point is inclined downward and 
to the left fide, where it is received in a cavity 
of the left lobe of the lungs, as may be obferved, 
the lungs being extended with air : this in- 
cumbrance on the left lobe of the lungs, I ima- 
gine, is the caufe of that fide's being moft fub- 
jecl: to thofe pains which are ufually called pleu- 
ritic, which, I think, are for the moft part inflam- 
mations in the lungs. 

At the bafis of the heart, on each fide, are fi- 
tuated the two auricles to receive the blood ; the 
right from the two cavas, and the left from the 
pulmonary veins : in the right, at the meeting of 
the cavas, is an eminence called Tuberculum 
Loweri, which directs the blood into the auricle ; 
immediately below this tubercle, in the ending 
of the Cava Afcendens, is the Veiligium of the 
Foramen Ovale ; and near this, in the auricle, is 
the mouth of the coronary-veins. The left auri- 
cle is abundantly lefs than the right; but the 
difference is fupplied by a large mufcular cavity, 
which the veins from the lungs afford in that 
place ; the fides of this mufcular cavity are thick- 
er than the fides of the right auricle, in about that 
proportion in which the left ventricle of the heart 
is ilronger than the right ; their ufes being to re- 
ceive blood from the veins that lead to the heart, 

and 



PARTI.] ARTERIES, AND VEINS. 93 

and to prefs it into the ventricles, a ftrength in each 
auricle proportionable to the ftrength of the ven- 
tricle that it is to fill with blood, feems neceffary : 
and this different thicknefs of the coats of the au- 
ricles makes the blood in the left, which is 
thickeft, appear through it of a paler red ; but 
when it it let out of the auricles it appears alike 
from both ; which they would do well to exa- 
mine, who affirm the blood returns from the 
lungs of a more florid colour than it went in ; 
and offer it as an argument, of the blood's being 
mixed with air in the lungs : in both auricles are 
mufcular Columnar, like thofe in the ventricles, 
but fmaller. 

The ventricles or cavities in the heart which 
receive the blood, are hollow mufcles, or two 
cavities in one mufcle, whofe fibres interfecT: one 
another, fo as to make the prefTure of the heart 
upon the blood more effectual, and are alfo lei's 
liable to be feparated than they would have been 
if they had lain parallel ; both thefe cavities re- 
ceiving the fame quantities of blood in the fame 
times, and always acting together, mull be equal 
in fize if they equally difcharge what they con- 
tain at every Syfrole, as I doubt not but they do ; 
neverthelefs the left appears lefs than the right, 
it being found empty in dead bodies, and the 
right ufually full of blood, which made the an- 
cients think the veins and the right ventricle only 
were for the blood to move in, and that the left 

and 



94 OF THE BLOOD, HEART, fpART I* 

and the arteries contained only animal fpirits* 
The left ventricle is much the thickeft and ftrong- 
efl, its office being to drive the blood through the 
whole body while the right propels it through 
the lungs only. Over the entrance of the au- 
ricles in each ventricle, are placed valves to 
hinder a return of blood while the heart con- 
tracts. Thofe in the right ventricle are namec} 
Tricufpides, thofe in the left Mitrales. One of 
thefe laft feem to do further fervice, by covering 
the mouth of the Aorta while the ventricle fills ; 
which fuffering none of the blood to pafs out of 
this ventricle into the Aorta before the ventricle 
acts, it will be able to give greater force to the 
blood than it otherwife might have done ; be- 
caufe a great quantity of blood more fully dis- 
tending the ventricle, and making the greater re- 
iiftance, it will be capable of receiving the 
greater imprefled force from the ventricle, and if 
the blood is no way hindered in the right ven- 
tricle from getting into the pulmonary artery, 
while the ventricle dilates as it is in the left, the 
left then muft be fomewhat bigger than the right, 
if they both empty themfelves alike in every 
fyftole. Though the auricles of the heart are 
equal to each other, and the two ventricles alio 
equal, or nearly equal, yet the auricles are not fo 
large as the ventricles ; for the ventricles contain 
not only all the blood which flowed from the 
veins into the auricles, during the contraction of 

the 



PART I.] ARTERIES, AND VEINS. 95 

the heart, but alfo that which flows (which will 
be directly into the heart) while the auricles 
contract, and the ventricles dilate ; which leads 
us to the exact knowledge of the ufe of the au- 
ricles. If the lyftole and diaitole of the heart 
are performed in equal times, then the auricles 
muft be half the fize of the ventricles ; or what- 
ever proportion the fpace of time of the fyftole 
of the heart, bears to the fpace of time in which 
the fyftole and diaftole are both performed, that 
proportion will the cavities of the auricles bear to 
the cavities of the ventricles. 

The inner fibres of each ventricle are difpofed 
into finall cords, which are called Columnae : 
from forne of thefe Hand fmall portions of flefh. 
called Papillae ; thefe Papillae are tied to the 
valves by flender fibres, whereby they keep the 
valves from being prelTed into the auricles, by 
the action of the blood againft them in the fyf- 
tole of the heart, and when that is over, the 
blood flowing in between them opens them, as 
the prefture of blood on the other fide fhut them 
in the fyftole. 

In the beginning of each artery from the heart 
are placed three valves, which look forward, and 
clofe together to hinder a regrefs of blood into 
the ventricles. Thoie in the pulmonary-artery, 
are named Sigmoidales, thofe in the Aorta, Se- 
milunars, Canalis Arteriofus. 



Of 



96 OF THE BLOOD, HEART, [pART I, 

Of the Arteries and Veins, 

Fhom the right ventricle of the heart arifesthe 
pulmonary artery, which foon divides into two 
branches, one to each lobe of the lungs, and then 
they fub-divide into fmaller and fmaller branches 
until they are dirmbuted through every part of 
the lungs. From the extreme branches of the 
pulmonary artery, arife the fmall branches of the 
pulmonary veins ; which as they approach the 
left auricle of the heart, unite in fuch a manner 
as the pulmonary artery divides going from the 
hearty only that the veins enter the mufcular ap- 
pendix of the left auricle in feveral branches, and 
the blood being brought back from the lungs by 
thefe veffels to the left auricle and ventricle of 
the heart, it is from the left ventricle of the heart 
thrown into the Aorta. 

Aorta, or great artery, arifes from the left 
ventricle of the heart, and deals oat brandies to 
every/part of the body. The firil part of this 
vefTel, is called Aorta Afcendens ; it palTes over 
the left pulmonary artery, and veins and branch 
of the Afpera Arteria, and being reflected under 
the left lobe of the lungs, it commences Aorta 
Defcendens ; which name it keeps through the 
Thorax and Abdomen, where it pafTes on the 
left fide of the fpine, till its divilion into the 
iliac arteries between the third and fourth Verte- 
brae of the loins. 

From 



PART I.] ARTERIES, AND VEINS. 97 

From under two of the femilunar valves of the 
Aorta, which is before it leaves the heart, arife two 
branches (fometimes but one) which arc be- 
llowed upon the heart, and are called Coronarise 
Cordis. From the curved part of the Aorta, 
which is about two or three inches above the 
heart, arife the fubclavian and carotid arteries ; 
the right fubclavian and carotid in one trunk, 
but the left lingle. By fome authors thefe vef- 
fels have been defcribed in a different manner, 
but, I believe^ their descriptions were 3 for want of 
human bodies, taken from brutes ; for I have 
never yet feen any variety in thefe veffels in hu- 
man bodies, though I have in the veins nearer 
the heart : and indeed there feems to me to be a 
mechanical neceflity for their going off in the 
manner here defcribed in human bodies ; for 
the right fubclavian and carotid arteries necef- 
farily going off from the Aorta at a much larger 
angle than the left, the blood would move 
more freely into the left than the right, if the 
right did not go off in one trunk, which gives 
lefs friction to the blood, than two branches 
equal in capacity to that one ; fo that the ad- 
vantage the left have by going off from the 
Aorta, at much acuter angles than the right, is 
made up to the right by their going off at hrft in 
but one branch. 

The carotid arteries run on both fides the La- 
rynx to the fixth foramina of the fkull, through 

i{ which 



§8 OF THE BLOOD, HEART, [PART I. 

which they enter to the brain ; but -as they pais 
through the neck, they detach branches to every 
part about them, which branches are called by 
the names of the parts they are bellowed upon. 
The internal carotids, fend two branches to the 
back part of the nofe, and feveral branches 
through the firft and fecond foramina of the 
fkull to the face and parts contained within the 
orbits of the eyes, and then piercing the Dura 
Mater, they each divide into two branches, one 
of which they fend under the fai\: of the Dura 
Mater, between the two hemifpheres of the brain, 
and the other between the anterior and pofterior 
lobes. Thefe branches take a great many turns, 
and divide into very fmall branches in the Pia 
Mater before they enter the brain, as if large 
trunks would make by their pulfe too violent an 
impreffion on lb tender and delicate a part. And 
perhaps it may be from an increafe of the im- 
pulfc of the arteries in the brain, which frrong li- 
quors produce, that the nerves are fo much in- 
terrupted in their ufes throughout the whole 
body, when a man is intoxicated with drinking ; 
and it may alio be from a like caufe, that men 
are delirious in fevers. Beiides thefe two ar- 
teries, viz. the carotids, the brain has two more, 
called Cervicales, which arife from the iubcla- 
vian arteries, and afcend to the head through the 
foramina, in the tranfverfe proceiies of the cer- 
vical vertebras, and into the ikull through the 

tenth 



PART I.] ARTERIES, AND VEINS. 99 

tenth or great foramen ; thefe two arteries 
uniting foon after their entrance, give off 
branches to the cerebellum, and then palling 
forward, divide and communicate with the caro- 
tids ; and the carotid arteries communicating 
with each other there is an entire communication 
between them all ; and thefe communicant bran- 
ches are fo large that every one of thefe four 
great veiTels, with all their branches may be filled 
with wax injected through any one of them. 

The fubclavian arteries, arc each continued to 
the cubit in one trunk, which is called Axillaris 
as it partes the arm-pits, and Humeralis as it 
pafTes by the infide of the Os Humeri, between 
the mufcles that bend and extend the cubit. 
From the fubclavians within the breaft arife the 
Arteriae Mammariae, which run on the infide of 
the Sternum and lower than the Cartilago Enfi- 
formis. As foon as the Arteria Humeralis has 
parTed the joint of the cubit, it divides into two 
branches, called Cubitalis Superior and Cubitalis 
Inferior ; which latter foon fends off a branch, 
called Cubitalis Media, which is bellowed upon 
the mufcles feated about the cubit. The Cubi- 
talis Superior partes near the Radius, and round 
the root of the thumb, and gives one branch to 
the back of the hand, and two to the thumb, one 
to the firft finger, and a banch to communicate 
with the Cubitalis Inferior. The Cubitalis Infe- 
H 2 rior 



100 OF THE BLOOD, HEART, [PART 1. 

rior partes near the Ulna to the palm of the hand, 
where it takes a turn, and fends one branch to 
the out-fide of the little finger, another between 
that and the next finger dividing to both, an- 
other in the fame manner to the two middle fin- 
gers, and another to the two fore-fingers. Thefe 
branches which are beftowed on the fingers, run 
one on each fide of each finger internally to the 
top, where they have fmall communications, 
and very often there is a branch of communi- 
cation between the humeral and inferior cubital 
arteries. 

From the descending Aorta on each fide is fent 
a branch under every rib, called Intcrcoftalis, and 
about the fourth Vertebra? of the back, it fends 
off' two branches to the lungs, called Bronchiales, 
which are fometimes both given off from the 
Aorta, fometimes one of them from the inter- 
coftal of the fourth rib on the right fide ; and as 
the Aorta partes under the diaphragm, it fends 
two branches into the diaphragm, called Arteria? 
Phrenicas, which fometimes rife in one trunk 
from the Aorta r and fometimes from the Ccelia- 
ca ; but oftener the right from the Aorta, and 
the left from the cceliac. Immediately below the 
diaphragm strifes the coeliac artery from the Aor- 
ta ; it loon divides into feveral branches, which 
are beftowed upon the liver, pancreas, fpleen. 
ftomachi omentum, and duodenum. Thefe 
branches are named from the parts they are be- 
ftowed 






PARTI.] ARTERIES, AND VEINS. 101 

flowed on , except two that are bellowed upon 
the llomach, which are called Coronaria Supe- 
rior and Inferior, and the branch bellowed upon 
the Duodenum, whieh is named Intellinalis. At 
a very fmall diftance below the Artena Cceliaca 
from the Aorta, ariles the Mefenterica Superior, 
whole branches are bellowed upon all the Intern- 
num Jejunum and Ileum, part of the Colon, and 
fometimes one branch upon the liver. A little 
Jower than the fuperior mefenteric artery, arife 
the emulgents which are the arteries of the kid- 
neys. Lower laterally, the Aorta fends branches 
to the loins called Lumbales, and one forward, 
to the lower part of the Colon and the Rectum, 
called Mefenterica Inferior. Between the Arte* 
ria Cceliaca Mefenteiica Superior, and Inferior, 
and the branches of each near the guts, there 
are large communicant branches to convey the 
blood from one to another when they are either 
compreiTed in any pollure, or ftreightened by 
being ftretched out in ruptures, or from any 
other caufe. 

As foon as the Aorta divides upon the loins, it 
fends off an artery into the Pelvis upon the Os 
Sacrum, called. Arteria Sacra, and the branches 
the Aorta divides into, are called Iliacse, which in 
about two inches fpace divide into external and 
internal. The IliaccR Interna firft fend off the 
umbilical arteries which are dried up in adult 
bodies, except at their beginnings, which are 

H 3 kept 



102 OF THE BLOOD, HEART, [pART f. 

kept open for the collateral branches on each 
fide : the reft of thefe branches are bellowed up-, 
on the buttocks, and upper parts of the thighs. 
The Iliacae Extern®, run over the Offa Pubis 
into the thighs ; and as they pafs out of the Ab- 
domen, they fend off branches, called Epigaftri- 
cac, to the fore part of the integuments of the 
Abdomen under the Re;li mufcles. And the 
epigaftrick arteries fend each a branch into the 
Pelvis and through the Foramina of the OfTa In- 
nominata to the mufcles thereabouts. As foon as 
the iliac artery is palled out of the Abdomen into 
the groin, it is called Inguinalis, and in the 
thigh Cruralis, where it fends a large branch to 
the back part of the thigh ; but the great trunk 
is continued internally between the flexors and 
extenfors of the thigh, and palling through the 
infertion of the Triceps mufcle into the ham, it is 
there called Poplitea ; then below the joint it di- 
vides into two branches one of which is called 
Tibialis Antica ; it pa lies, between the Tibia and 
Fibula to the fore part of the leg, and is beftow-r 
ed upon the great toe, and one branch to the next 
toe to the great one, and another between thefe 
toes to communicate with the Tibialis Poftica ; 
which artery foon after it is divided from the 
Antica, fends off the Tibialis Media, which is 
bellowed upon the mufcles of the leg, while the 
Tibialis Poftica goes to the bottom of the foot 
:md all the leffer toes. The Tibialis Antica is 

difpoied 



PART I.] ARTERIES, AND VEINS. J*-' 3 

diipofed like the Cubitaiis Superior ; the Poftica, 
like the Cubitalis Inferior; and the Media in 
each, have alfo like ufes. Thefe arteries which 
I have defcribed are uniform in moll bodies, but 
the lcfler branches are diftributed like the branches 
of trees, and in fo different a manner in one 
body from another, that thefe veflels, it is high- 
ly probable, are in no two bodies alike, nor the 
two fides in any one body. 

The veins arile from the extremities of the ar- 
teries, and make up trunks which accompany the 
arteries in almoft every part of the body, and 
have the fame names in the feveral places which 
the arteries have, which they accompany. The 
yeins of the brain unload themfelves into the 
Sinufcs, and the linufes into the internal ju- 
gulars and cervicals, and the internal jugulars 
and cervicals into the fubclavians, which joining, 
make the Cava Defcendens. The internal jugu- 
lars are feated by the carotid arteries and receive 
the blood from all the parts which the carotids 
fexve, except the hairy fcalp and part of the 
neck, whofe veins enter into the external jugulars, 
which run immediately under the Mufculus 
Quadratus Genae, often two on each fide. The 
cervical veins, defcend two through the fora- 
mina in the tranfverfe procefTes of the cervical 
vertebrae, and two throngh the great foramen of 
the fpine, and one on each lide the fpinal mar- 
row ; thefe join at the lowed vertebra of the 
neck, and then empty into the fubclavians, and 

H 4 at 



104 OF THE BLOOD, HEART, [PART I.. 

at the interfaces of all the vertebrae communicate 
with another. 

The veins of the arm are more than double 
the number of the arteries, there being one on 
each fide each artery, even to the fmalleft bran- 
ches that we can trace, befides the veins which lie 
immediately under the fkin. Thofe which ac- 
company the arteries have the fame names with 
the arteries ; thofe which run immediately under 
the fkin on the back of the hand have no proper 
names : they run from thence to the infide of the 
elbow ; where the uppermofl is called Cephalica, 
the next Mediana, the next Bafilica. Thefe all 
communicate near the joint of the elbow, and 
then fend one branch which is more directly from 
the Cephalica, and bears that name, until it en- 
ters the fubclavian vein ; it paiTes immediately 
under the fkin,' in molt bodies, between the 
flexors and extenfors of the cubit, on the upper 
fide of the arm. The other branches joining, 
and receiving thofe which accompany the arteries 
of the cubit, they pais with them by the artery 
of the arm into the fubclavian vein. The exter- 
nal veins have frequent communications with the 
internal, and are always fulleft when we ufe the 
moft exercife ; becaufe the blood being expanded 
by the heat which exercife produces, it requires 
the veflels to be diltended, and the inner veflels, 
being compreiied by the actions of. the mufcles, 
they cannot dilate enough, but thefe veflels 

being 



PART I.] ARTERIES, ANDVEINS. 105 

being feated on the outfides of the mufcles, are 
capable of being much dilated ; and this leems 
to rat to be the chief ufe of thefe external 
veflels. 

In the Thorax, befides the two Cavas, there is 
a vein called Azygos or Vena line Pari, it is 
made up of the inlercoftal, phrenic, and bron- 
chial veins, and enters the descending cava near 
the auricle, as if its ufe was to divert the descend- 
ing blood from falling too directly upon the 
blood in the afcending cava, and direct the blood 
of the defcending cava into the auricle. Befides 
this vein in the Thorax, are the mammary veins, 
one to each artery : and the veins of the heart 
which are called Coronarire ; they are twice the 
number of the arteries, but they enter the right 
auricle chiefly at one orifice. 

In the Abdomen, (befides the Cava Afcendens, 
and the veins which are named like the arteries,) 
there is one large one called Vena Portae, whole 
branches arife from all the branches of the coeliac 
and two mefenteric arteries, except the branches 
of the coeliac ^nd fuperior mefenteric, which are 
bellowed on the liver, arid uniting in one trunk 
enters the liver and is there again diftributed like 
an artery, and has its blood collected and brought 
into the cava by the branches of the cava in the 
liver : this vein being made ufe of inftead of an 
artery, to carry blood to the liver, for the repara- 
tion of bile. It moves in this vein about eight times 

flower 



106 OF THE BLOOD, HEART, [pART I. 

flower than in the arteries hereabouts ; and this 
flow circulation being fuppofed neceffary, I think, 
there could be no other way fo fit to procure it ; 
for if an artery had been employed for this ufe, 
and been thus much dilated in fo fhort a paffage, 
the blood would not have moved uniformly in 
it, but much falter through its axis than near its 
fides ; and befides it is very probable that the 
blood in this vein having been firft employed in 
nourifhing feveral parrs, and having through a 
long fpace moved flowly, may be made much 
fitter for the feparation of bile than blood carried 
by an artery, dilated to piocure a circulation of 
the fame velocity with that in this vein. 

In the leg the veins accompany the arteries in 
the fame manner as in the arm, the external veins 
of the foot being on the upper fide, and from 
them is derived one called Saphoena, which is 
continued on the infide of the limb its whole 
length, and lias feveral names given it from the fe- 
veral places through which it paffes. 

Borelli has computed the force which the hear* 
exerts at every fyftole, to be equal to three thou- 
fand pounds weight, and the force which all the 
arteries exert at every fyftole, to be equal to lix- 
tctn thoufand pounds weight, and that they to- 
gethcr overcome a force equal to a hundred and 
thirty-fix thoufand pounds weight ; and Dr. 
Keill has computed that the heart in every fyf- 
tole, exerts a force not exceeding eight ounces : 

but 



PART I.] ARTERIES, AND VEINS. 107 

but in both thefe accounts a weight in motion 
is compared to a weight at reft. The firft com- 
putation was made by comparing the heart with 
other mufcles, whofe power to fuftain a weight 
could be beft determined ; and the latter was 
made from the velocity of the blood moving in 
an artery : therefore if we confider that Borellfs 
way of computing led him to find out the abfo^ 
lute force of the heart, and Dr. Keill's the force 
which the heart ufually exerts, perhaps thefe very, 
different computations may be accounted for ; 
for if the force of the heart, which is conitantly 
exerted, mould, compared with any other mui^ 
cle, be but in a reciprocal proportion to the frer 
quency of their actions, and the importance of 
their ufes ; may not the heart very fitly have a 
force vaftly greater than it ufually exerts, becaufe 
it is always in action, and muft be able to exert 
a certain force in the loweft ftate of health ? 
What force the heart ever exerts in a grown 
man, I cannot fay ; but it muft be lefs in each 
ventricle than is fufficient to burlt the valves, 
which hinder the blood from returning into the 
auricles out of the ventricles, or than is fufricient 
to break thofe threads by which thefe valves are 
tied to the papillae. 

As to the velocity of the blood, is it not in all 
animals proportionable to their quantity of ac- 
tion ? and is not their ncceffity of food aHb in 
proportion to their quantity of action ? li i'o, we 

may 



10S OF THE BLOOD, HEART, &C. [pART I* 

may fee how it comes to pafs, that animals which 
life no exercife, and whofe blood moves extremely 
How in the winter, can fubfift without any frefh 
fupply of food, while others that life a little more 
exercife, require a little more food, and thofe 
who ufe equal exercife winter and. fummer, re- 
quire equal quantities of food at all time?, the 
end of eating and drinking, being to repair what 
exercife and the motion of the blood has deftroy- 
ed or made ufelefs ; and the lefs velocity of the 
blood in fome animals than in others, may be the 
yeafon why wounds and bruifes in thofe animals 
do not fo foon deftroy life, as they do in animal* 
whofe blood moves fwifter* 



CHAPTER 



( 109 ) 



CHAPTER XI 



Of the Glands and Excretory Duels. 

JMODERN anatomifts have reduced all the 
glands of the body to two forts, viz. the Gland ulse 
Conglobatae, and the Glandulae Conglomerate. 

A conglobate gland is a little fmooth body, 
wrapped up in a fine fkin, by which it is feparated 
from all other parts, only admitting an artery and 
nerve to pafs in, and giving way to a vein and ex- 
cretory canal to come out. Of this fort are the 
glands of the brain, the labial glands, &c. 

A conglomerate gland is compofed of many 
little conglobate glands all tied together, and 
wrapped up in one common tunicle, or mem- 
brane. Sometimes all their excretory duels unite, 
and make one common pipe, through which the 
liquor of all of them runs, as the pancreas and the 
parotides do. Sometimes the ducts uniting, form 
ieveral pipes, which only communicate with one 
another, by crofs canals, and fuch are the Mam- 
mae. Others again have feveral pipes, without 
any communication with one another ; of which 
fort are the Glandulse Lachrymales, and Proflra- 
tae. And a fourth fort is, when each little gland 

has 



IJO OF THE GLAtft>S £>ART U 

has its own excretory duel, through which if 
tranfmits its liquor in a common bafon, as the 
kidneys. 

A gland is chiefly compofed of a convolution 
of one or more arteries of a confiderable length, 
from whofe lines arife vait numbers of excretory 
duels, as the lacleals arife from the guts, and for 
the fame reafon ; for the parages into the excre- 
tory duels of a gland, being fuch as that only one 
fort of fluid may pafs into them, the want of 
largenefs is compenfated by their number ; and in 
a great length of an artery, as in the guts thofe 
proper fluids which efcape cue duel may pais 
into another ; and from what has been laid, it 
does not appear but that excretory duels may arife 
from the veffels that form membranes without be- 
ing convolved at all. And this way, I imagii 
fecretions are made from all the membranes that 
line cavities, and fome others. There alfo ariie 
from thefe arteries lymphatic veffels, whofe ufe 
feems to be to take of the thiimeft part of 1 
blood, where a thick fluid is to be fecreted, L 
ing they are found in greateli plenty in fuch 
glands as feparate the thicker! fluids, as in the 
liver ; and it is obfervable that where the thickeil 
fecretions are made, the velocity of the blood is 
the leaft, as if it was contrhed to give thofe 
feemingly more tenacious parts more time to fepa- 
rate from the blood. The arteries that compoie 
different glands are convolved in different man- 
ners, 



PART I.] AND EXCRETORY DUCTS. Ill 

Hers, but whether or riot their different fecretions 
depend upon that, I doubt will be difficult to 
dilcover. The excretory duels arife from the 
arteries, and unite in their progrefs as the 
roots of trees do from the earth, and as different 
trees, plants, fruits, and even different minerals, 
in their growing, often derive their diftincl pro- 
per juices from the fame kind of earth ; fo the ex- 
cretory ducts in different glands, feparate from 
the fame blood their different juices : but what 
thefe different fecretions depend upon, whether 
the itructure of the parts or different attractions, 
are what we have no certainty about, though this 
lubject has employed feveral of the befl writers. 
For my own part, from the great Simplicity and 
uniformity ufually feen in Nature's works, I am 
mod inclined to think different fecretions arife 
from different attractions, feeing that in plants 
and minerals there feems to be no other way. 

Some of the principal glands will be mentioned 
in the following chapter. 



CHAPTER 



( tt* ) 



CHAPTER XII. 

Of the Converfwn of Food into Blood : Mafliea- 
tion, the Salivary Glands, the Duclus Ati- 
merit alls, Dige/lion, Formation of Chyle, and 
the Organs conducive to it. 

JL HE aliment being received into the mem:/ 
there mafticated by the teeth, and impregnated 
with faliva, which is preiled out of the tali vary 
glands by the motions of the jaw and the mufcles 
that move it and the tongue. 

The falivary glands are fituated about the jaws 
and the tongue. Parotis, or Maxillaris Superior, 
is the largeft, and is fituated behind the lower 
jaw, under the ear. It has its Saliva promoted by 
the motions of the. lower jaw. Maxillaris inferior 
is fituated between the lower jaw and the tendon of 
the Digaftric mulMe. [See the table of Mufcles. ~\ 
Sublingual^ is a fmall gland under the tongue 
between the jaw and the ArataglofTus mufcle. 
Toniilla is a globular gland about the bignefs of a 
hazel nut, iituated upon the Pterygoideus Inter- 
num mufcle, between the root of the tongue and 
t he Uvula. This gland, with its fellow, direc'ts 
the mafticated aliment into the Pharynx, and they 

ferve 



PART I.] OF THE CONVERSION OF FOOD, &TC. 1 I 3 

ferve for the Uvula to fhut down upon when we 
breathe through the nofe. They are comprefTed 
by the tongue and the aliment, when the former 
raifes the latter over its root, and thereby oppor- 
tunely emit their faliva to lubricate the food for 
its eafier defcent through the Pharynx. 

Pre dure upon the furface of a gland very much 
promoting the fecretion that is made in it, thefe 
glands are fo feated as to be prefled by the lower 
jaw, and its mufcles, which will be chiefly at the 
time when their fluid is wanted ; and the force 
with which the jaw muft be moved, being as the 
drynefs and hardnefs of the food mafticated, the 
fecretion from the glands depending very much 
upon that force ; it will alfo be in proportion to 
the drynefs and hardnefs of that food which is 
neceflary ; for all food, being to be reduced to a 
pulp, by being mixed with faliva before it can 
be fwallowed fit for digeflion, the dryer and 
harder foods needing more of this matter, will, 
from this mechanifm, be fupplied with more than 
moifter foods in about that proportion in which 
they are dryer and harder; and the dryer foods 
needing more faliva than moifter, is the reafon 
why we can cat lefs and digeft lefs of thefe than, 
thofe. What quantity of faliva thefe glands can 
feparate from the blood, in a given time, will be 
hard to determine, but in eating of dry bread it 
cannot be lefs than the weight of bread ; and 
many men, in a little time, can eat. more dry 

I bread 



Ill OP THE CONVERSION OF [PART I, 

bread than twice the fize of all thefe glands ; and 
fome men that are ufed to fmoaking, can fpit 
half a pint in the fmoaking one pipe of tobacco ; 
and fome men in a falivation, have fpit, for days 
or weeks together, a gallon in four and twenty 
hours ; and, yet I believe, all thefe glands put 
together, do not weigh more than four ounces. 

The membrane which lines the mouth and pa- 
late, and covers the tongue, -is every where befet 
with fmall glands, to afford faliva in all parts of 
the mouth to keep it moift ; for thofe more remote 
are chiefly concerned in time of maftication. 
Thefe fmall glands have names given them accord- 
ing to their refpective foliations, as Buccales, 
Labiales, Linguales, Fauciales, Palatinao, Gingi- 
varum, and U vularcs. 

The aliment thus prepared defcends through 
the Pharynx into the ftomach, where it is digefted 
by the juices of the ftomach, which are what is 
thrown out of the glands of its inmoft coat with 
faliva out of the mouth, and a moderate warmth 
and attrition. 

It is here necefiary to take a view of the Duclus 
Alimentalis, or Alimentary Canal, which coniiiis 
of the CEfophagus, Stomach, and Guts. 

(Efophagus or gullet, is the beginning of the 
alimentary duel: ; its upper part is called Pharvnx; 
it is a wide and open fpace fpread behind the 
gue to receive the maiticated aliment ; it be- 
gins from the bails of the ikull near the ProcefTus 

Pterygoid es 



PART t.] FOOD INTO BLOOD, &C. 115 

Pterygoides of the fphenoidal bone, then defcend- 
ing becomes round, and is called Vaginalis Gulae ; 
it runs from the tongue clofe to the (pine, under 
the left Subclavian blood veflels, into and through 
the Thorax on the left fide, then piercing the 
diaphragm, it immediately enters the flomach. 
It is compofed of a thin outer coat, which is no 
more than a proper membrane to the middle ot 
mufcular coat. The middle coat is compofed of 
longitudinal and circular mufcular fibres, but 
chiefly circular, abundantly thicker than the 
N fame coat in the guts ; becaufe this has no foreign 
power to afliffc it, as the guts have, and becaufe 
it is neceffary the food fhould make a fhorter flay 
here than there/ The inner coat, is a pretty 
fmooth membrane, befet with many glands, 
which fecrete a mucilaginous matter, to defend 
this membrane, and render the defcent of the ali- 
ment eafy* 

Ventriculus, the flomach, is fituated under the 
left fide of the diaphragm, its left fide touching 
the fpleen, and its right is covered by the thin 
edge of the liver; its figure nearly refembles the 
pouch of a bag-pipe, its left end being moft ca- 
pacious, the upper fide concave, and the lower 
convex; it has two orifices, both on its upper 
part ; the left (through which the aliment paffes 
into the ftomach) is named Cardia ; and the right 
(through which it is conveyed out of the ftomach 
into the Duodenum) is named Pylorus ; where 
I -2 there 



116 OP THE CONVERSION OF [PART I. 

there is a circular valve which hinders a return of 
the aliment out of the gut, but does not wholly 
hinder the gall from flowing into the ftomach. 

The coats of the ftomach are but three ; the 
external membranous, the middle mufcular, whofe 
fibres are chiefly longitudinal and circular, the 
inner membranous, and befet with glands, which 
feparate a Mucus. This laft coat is again divided 
by anatomifts into a fourth, which they call 
Yillofa. As the mufcular coat of the ftomach. 
contracts, the inner coat falls into folds, which 
encreafe as the ftomach leffens, and confequently 
retard the aliment moil when the ftomach is near- 
eft being empty. 

The manner in which digeftion is performed 
has been matter of great controverfy. The an- 
cients generally fuppofed the food concocled by 
a fermentation in the ftomach : but the moderns 
more generally attribute it to the mufcular force 
of the ftomach. In granivorous birds, where di- 
geftion is made by mufcular force, their fecond 
ftomach is plainly contrived for comminuting or 
digefting their food that way ; for, befides that, it 
is one of the ftrongeft mufcles in their bodies, its 
iniide is defended with a hard and ftrong mem- 
brane, that it may not be torn ; and thefe birds al- 
ways eat with their grain the rougheft and hardelt 
little Hones they can find, which are ncceflary for 
grinding their food, notwithstanding it is firft 
foaked in another ftomach, and is alio food of very 
eafy digeftion. In ferpents, fome birds, and Se- 
veral 



PART I.j FOOD INTO 11 LOO D, &C. 117 

vcral kinds of fifh, which fwallow whole animals, 
and retain them long in their ftomachs, digeftion 
leems to be performed by a menflruum ; for we 
frequently find in their ftomachs animals Co totally 
digefted, before their form isdeftroyed, that their 
very bones are made foft. In horfes and oxen, di- 
geftion is but little more than extracting a tincture ; 
for in their excrements when voided, we fee the 
texture of their food is not totally deftroyed, 
though grafs, in particular, feems to be of as eafy 
digeftion as any food whatever, and the corn they 
eat is often voided entire : and in the excrements 
of men, are often feeri the fkins of fruits undigeft- 
ed, and fmall fruits, fuch as currants, unbroken, 
and worms alfo continue unhurt, both in the fto- 
mach and guts. Therefore, by comparing our 
ftomachs with thofe here mentioned, it appears to 
me, that our digeftion is performed by a men -- 
ftruum, which is chiefly faliva, affifted by 
the action of the ftomach, and the abdominal 
mufcles. and by that principle of corruption 
which is in all dead bodies. For digeftion is no 
other than corruption of our food ; and, there- 
fore, quantities of hot fpirits, which hinder the 
corruption of animal bodies, alfo hinder digeftion. 
Though the inteftines be one continued pipe, 
which by feveral circumvolutions, and turnings, 
reaches from the Pylorus to the Anus, they are 
divided by the anatomifts into fix parts, viz. Du- 
odenum, Jejunum, Ileum, Colon, Caecum, and 
Rectum, the three firft which are nearer! the fto- 

I 3 mach 



118 OF THE CONVERSION OP [PART I. 

mach are the fmall guts, and the three laft are 
the great guts. 

They all have in their inner membranes an almoft 
infinite number of very fmall glands. The length 
of the guts to that of the body is as five to one in 
a middle fized man ; in taller men the proportion 
is ufually lefs, and in fhort men greater. It is 
not necefTary to repeat the ufe of the mefentery to 
the inteftines. [See the chapter on Membranes.] 

Let us now return to the progrefs of the ali- 
ment. Being digefted in the ftomach it is thrown 
through the Pylorus or right orifice of the fto- 
mach into the Duodenum, where it is mixed with 
bile from the gall-bladder and liver, and the pan- 
creatic juice from the pancreatic gland. Thefe 
fluids ferve further to attenuate and dilute the di- 
gefled aliment, and probably to make the fluid 
part feparate better from the faeces. After this it 
is continually moved by the periftaltic or vermi- 
cular motion of the guts, and the compreflion of 
the diaphragm and abdominal mufcles, by which 
the fluid parts are prefTed into the lactcals, and 
the grofs parts through the guts as excrement. 

Having followed the aliment to the reparation 
of the nutritious and excrementitious parts of it, 
we muft make fome enquiry into the other auxili- 
ary organs, by which the operation is carried into 
effect. Thofe are, the Liver, Gall-bladder, Pan- 
creas, Spleen, Ladeals, and Lymphatics. 

The 



PART I.] FOOD INTO BLOOD, &C. I Ifl 

The liver is the largeft gland in the body ; of 
a duiky red colour. It is fituated immediately 
under the diaphragm in the right hypochon- 
drium ; its exterior fide is convex, and interio 1 * 
concave ; backward towards the ribs it is thick, 
and thin on its fore-part, where it covers the up- 
per lide of the ftomach, and fome of the guts ; 
the upper fide of it adheres to the diaphragm, and 
is alio tied to it and the fternum by a thin liga- 
ment, which is defcribed commonly as two. It 
is alfo tied to the navel by a round ligament called 
Teres or Umbilicale, which is the umbilical vein 
degenerated into a ligament ; it is inferted into 
the liver at a fmall riflure in its lower edge. Dogs, 
cats, and other animals, that have a great 
deal of motion in their backs, have their livers 
divided into many diflincl: lobules ; which by 
moving one upon another, comply with thofe mo- 
tions, which elle would break their livers to pieces. 

The gall-bladder is a receptacle of bile, feated 
in the hollow lide of the liver ; it is compofed of 
one denfe coat fomewhat mufcular, which is co- 
vered with a membrane like that of the liver ; and 
is alio lined with another, that cannot eafily be 
ieparated. From the gall-bladder towards the 
duodenum runs a duel called Cyfticus ; and from 
the liver to this duel one called Hepaticus, which 
carries off the gall this way, when the gall-blad- 
der is full ; then the ductus cyfticus and hepa- 
ticus being united, commence ductus communis 
I 4 choledochuSj 



120 OF THE CONVERSION OP [PART I. 

choledochus, which enters the duodenum 
obliquely about four inches below its beginning. 
The orifice of this duel: in the gut is fomewhat 
eminent, but has no caruncle, as is commonly 
faid. As the liver, from its fituation in the fame 
cavity with the ftomach, will be moft prelfed, 
and confequemly feparate moft gall when the fto- 
mach is full eft, which is the time when it is moft 
wanted ; fo the gall-bladder, being feated again ft 
the duodenum, it will have its fluid prerled out 
by the aliment palling through that gut, and con- 
fequently at a right time and in due proportion ; 
becaufethe greater that quantity of aliment is, the 
greater will be the compreilion ; and fo the con- 
trary. 

Pancreas, the fweet- bread, is a large gland of 
the falivary kind, lying acrois the upper and back 
part of the abdomen, near the duodenum ; it is 
what the ancients call a conglomerate gland, ap- 
pearing fo to the naked eye ; it has a fhort excre- 
tory duel, about half as large as a crow quill, 
though it is commonly painted as large as the' 
ductus communis choledochus : it always enters 
the duodenum together with the bile duel: ; but in 
dogs fome diftance from it ; and, I think, al- 
ways in two ducts difiant from one another. The 
juice of this gland, together with the bile, ferves to 
compleat the digeftion of the aliment; and renders 
it fit to enter the lacteal veliels. 

The 



PART I.]' FOOD INTO BLOOD, &C. !2l 

The Lacteals are the Venae Lacteae, Recepta- 
cuIqiti Chyli, and Ductus Thoracicus. 

Vense Lacteae, &c. are a vail number of very 
fine pellucid tubes, beginning from the fmall guts, 
and proceeding thence through the mefentery ; 
they frequently unite, and form fewer and larger 
veiiels, which firft. pafs through the mefenteric 
glands, and then into the Receptaculum Chyli : 
thefe veffels before they arrive at the mefenteric 
glands, are called Venae Lacteas primi Generis ; 
and thence to their entrance into the Receptacu- 
lum Chyli, Venas Lacteae fecundi Generis. The 
office of thefe veins, is to receive the fluid part of 
the digefted aliment, which is called chyle, and 
convey it to the Receptaculum Chyli, that it may 
be thence carried through the Ductus Thoraci- 
cus into the blood -vefTels. 

Receptaculum Chyli, is a membranous fome- 
what pyriform bag, two-thirds of an inch long, 
one-third of an inch over in its large!! part, when 
collapfed ; fituated on the firft Vertebra Lumbo- 
rum, to the right of the Aorta, a little higher 
than the Arteria Emulgens Dextra, under the 
right inferior mufcle of the diaphragm ; it is 
formed by the union of three tubes, one from 
under the Aorta, the fecond from the interftice 
of the Aorta and Cava, the third from under the 
emulgents of the right fide. The Saccus Chyli- 
ferus at its fuperior part becoming gradually 
fmaller is contracted into a flendcr membranous 

pipe 



122 ' OF THE CONVERSION OP fpAKT I. 

pipe of about a line diameter, well known by the 
name of Ductus Thoracicus. 

The Ductus Thoracicus afcends into the 
Thorax, behind the great artery ; and, about 
the heart, it frequently divides into two or three 
branches which immediately unite again into one ; 
and, creeping all along the gullet, it marches to 
the left fubclavian vein, where it opens at one or 
two orifices, which are covered with a femi-lunar 
valve, that the blood may pafs over them; and the 
chyle run from underneath it, and mix with the 
blood in the veins. The Ductus Thoracicus has 
valves at feveral diitances, which hinder the chyle 
that has once parted them, from falling back. 
It receives the lymphaeducts from the feveral parts 
in the cheft, as it partes along to the fubclavian 
vein. By its running up the left fide, the chyle 
receives a new impetus, from the puliation of the 
great artery : whereas, on the right fide, it muft 
have afcended only by the preffure of the Dia- 
phragm and mufcles of the lower belly upon the 
receptacle, which it equally enjoys in its prefent 
fituation. 

Suppofing there ordinarily partes five pounds 
of chyle in a day through the lacteals, and that 
four ounces of this only is added to the blood, 
(though it may be any other quantity for ought 
I know) and that a man neither decreales nor en* 
creafes during this time, then all the feparations 
from the fluids and folids muft be juft five 

pound 



* » 



PART I.] FOOD INTO BLOOD, &C. 123 

pounds ; four ounces of which mud be thofe 
fluids and particles of fblids, which are become 
unprofitable ; and the remaining four pounds 
twelve ounces, will ferve as a vehicle to carry 
the four ounces off: fo that we fee for what rea- 
fon more fluids are carried into the blood than 
are to be retained there, and how the body is 
by the fame means both nourifhed and preferved 
in health. 

The chyle is diluted in its parage by the 
lymph. 

Of the JLymplheJucls. 
Lymphsedu6ls are fmall pellucid cylindrical 
tubes which arife invifible from the extremities 
of the arteries throughout the whole body, but 
more plentifully in glands than other parts, and 
in greater! number from fuch glands as feparate 
the moft vifcid fluids, as may be obferved in the 
liver and elfewhere. They all terminate in the 
Via Laclea, or in the large veins. All that rife 
in the Abdomen empty into the Venae Lacteal 
fecundi Generis and Receptaculum Chyli : thofe 
in the cavity of the Thorax into the Ductus 
Thoracicus and the fubclavian veins. Their 
ufes are to carry lymph to dilute the chyle to 
make it incorporate more readily with the blood 
(but not to make it flow the better in the Lac- 
teals, as appears fufficiently from their not en- 
tering into the minuted lacteals) and to carry off 

fo 



124 OF THE CONVERSION OP [PART ll 

fo much lymph as is neceflary to leave the blood 
in fit temper to flow through the veins ; for it is 
always obferved that in fuch perfons as have their 
blood too thin, the Globulae cohere and form 
Moleculae or Polypufes, 

Of the Lymphatic Glands, 
The glands accompanying the lymphatics, are 
fituated in the three cavities, in the interftices of 
the mufcles, where the lymphatics lie with the 
large blood veflels, and in the four emunclories, 
viz. the arm -pits and groins. In the brain is 
feared the Glandula Pinealis, which is judged to 
be of this fort. In the neck are fituated a great 
many of thcie by the fides of the carotid arte] 
and internal jugular veins, and two, or a fort 
of double one upon the Larynx inunediat. '; 
low the thyroid cartilage, from which fituation 
they derive the name of Thyroidal, and juft 
within the Thorax is feated another called Thy- 
mus Under the bafis of the heart, and at I 
fides of the lungs, where the great vcficls enter, 
are many of thele glands from the fize of a pea 
to that of a hazel nut. In the Abdomen upon 
the loins near the kidneys, and by the fides of 
the iliac veflels are many of thefe glands, which 
are called Lumbales, and there are fome at the 
hollow fide of the liver, named Hepatictt : and 
the mefentery is full of glands of a like appt 
ance, but they feem to belong only to the lacleal 

veins. 



FART I.] FOOD IttTO JBLOOD, &C; 1 25 

veins, unlefs fome of them which are featecj at 
the bads of the mefentery among the Venae Lac,. 
teas fecundi Generis, belong to the lymphatics 
that come from the liver, where the hepatic lym- 
phatics pafs in their way to the Receptaculum 
Chyii. The glands which accompany the blood 
vefiels in the limbs are few, and diltributed in 
no certain order ; except thofe in the four emunc- 
tories, i. e. in the arm-pits and groins, named 
Axillares and Inguinales. 

The Chyle or thin milky part of the aliment, 
being received into the lacteals from all the fmall 
guts, they carry it into the Receptaculum Chyli, 
and thence the Ductus Thoracicus carries it into 
the left Subclavian vein, where it mixes with the 
blood, and pafles with it to the heart. 

All the veins being emptied into two branches, 
viz. the afcending and descending Cava, they 
empty into the right auricle of the heart ; the 
right auricle unloads into the right ventricle, 
which throws the blood through the pulmonary 
artery into the lungs ; from the lungs, the blood 
is brought by the pulmonary veins into the left 
auricle, and from that into the left ventricle, by 
which it is thrown into the aorta, and diftributed 
through the body. .From the extremities of the 
arteries arife the veins and lymphatics, the 7 veins' 
to collect the blood, and bring it back to the heart, 
and the lymphatics to return the lymph or thinner 
part of the blood, from the arteries, to the veins 

and 



126 OF TttE CONVERSION OP FOOD, &C. [PART I. 

and the Via La&ea, where it mixes with the 
chyle, and then paries with it into the left fubcla- 
vian vein and to the heart. [See Chap. X.~J 

The urine is ieparated from the blood by the 
kidneys. The kidneys of men are like thofe of a 
hog, the two weigh about twelve ounces ; they are 
feated towards the upper part of the loins upon 
the two 1 aft ribs, the right under the liver, and a 
little lower than the other, and the left under the 
fpleen. 

All the fluids that pafs into the flomach and 
guts being carried into the blood-vefTels, the great- 
eft part of them are feparated and carried off by 
proper vefTels, viz. urine from the kidneys, bile 
from the liver, &:c. and thefe juices carry along 
with them whatever might be injurious to the ani- 
mal economy. 



CHAPTER 






( 1*7 ) 



CHAPTER Xllf. 

Of . continuing the Species, 

As every animal is fubje6l to death, and muft 
at laft perifh by old age, difeafe, or cafualty, the 
whole animal creation would foon come to an end, 
if there were not a constant fuppty, therefore the 
Author of nature has given to every animal an in- 
ft in 61 to propagate its fpecies, and for this pur- 
poie has created a diftinction of fex. The nature 
of generation is enveloped in myftery, which ana- 
tomifts have endeavoured in vain to explain ; in- 
ftead therefore of examining their unfettled theo- 
ries^ I fhall only obferve, that mankind differ 
in this particular elTentially from the reft of the 
animal creation, the attachment of the male and 
the female being founded on the pafrion of love, 
of which brutes know' nothing. As I fhall fpeak 
of this paflion at large in the laft part of this trea- 
tife, I fhall here conclude our anatomical elements. 
The fubjeel is a very copious one, and deferves 
to be ftudied at length, but youth who have other 
ftudies, and perhaps men who have other purfuits, 
will notf be forry to take this glance of the human 
frame, divefted of the abftrufe minutenefs neceffa- 
ry to the profeftional ftudent. 

END OF PART I. 



ELEMENTS 

OF 

SELF-KNOWLEDGE* 

PART IL 

A CONCISE VIEW- 
op THE 

MENTAL FACULTIES, 



CHAPTER I. 



General View of the Mind. Advantage of 
Analyzing. 

XXAVING analyzed our corporeal frame, and 
made my young readers acquainted with the com- 
ponent parts of it, at leaft fo far as is neceffary 
to contribute to the knowledge of its nature ; for 
it was not my defign to give them the information 
proper for a furgeon ; let us now proceed to the 
investigation of the nobler part of human nature ; 

THE MIND. 

What do we mean by the word Mind? The 
intelligent or confcious part of our nature, con- 
firming of certain faculties or powers, by which 
the operations of knowledge, of virtue, and of 

K vice 



130 GENERAL VIEW Ot tHE MIND. [PART IT, 

vice are conducted, jufl as we have feen the ope- 
rations of the body are conducted by the con- 
formation of mufcles, nerves, glands, &c. pro- 
ducing health, ftrength, and agility, the grand 
effects of corporeal flructure. 

In making ourfelves acquainted with the mind, 
let us purfue the fame method we adopted with the 
body, let us fee of what it confifts in the 
whole, and then let us analyze each faculty, and 
emotion feparately. In the Mind we difcover the 
following faculties and properties : 

The Faculties of the Mind. 



Perception. 


Reafonins:. 

Q 


Attention. 


Judgment. 


Retention, or Memory. 


Invention. 


Recollection. 


Will. 


Imagination. 


Defign. 


The Power of Comparing. 


Forefight. 


Difcemment, or Intuition. 


Liberty. 


The Powerof Abstracting. 


Confcience 


The Powerof Compound- 





,ng. 



This collection of terms can at firft produce 
but very confufed notions, and it brings to my 
mind a companion which, in illuftrating the na- 
ture of analyfis, will both amule and inltruct. 
Let us fuppofe a villa, overlooking an extenfive, 
fertile country, where nature lias been bountiful 

in 



FAkt II.] ADVANTAGE OF ANALYZING. 131 

in variety, and where her bounty , has been ftill 
more varied and adorned by art. Let us arrive at 
this villa in the night time. Let the windows be 
opened juft as the fun begins to gild the horizon, 
and as foon as vve have looked through them, let 
them be inftantly fhut again. 

Although this beautiful country appeared but 
an inftant to us, it is certain that we faw all that it 
contains. A fecond and a third glimpfe would 
leave but the fame impreffions made by the ob- 
jects in the firft, and of courfe had not the win- 
dows been fhut again, we fhould have continued 
to fee only what we faw at firft. 

But the firft view is not enough to give us a 
knowledge of the country, that is to fay, to enable 
us to diftinguifh the objects it contains, and there- 
fore on the fhutting of the windows none of us 
would be able to give an account of what we had 
feen. Thus one may fee many things and learn 
nothing. 

Now let us fuppofe the windows opened for the 
whole day, and that we have before us for a long 
time all that we had feen at firft. If loft, like 
fome men, in extacy, we continue viewing as be- 
fore, this multitude of different objects all at once, 
we fhould know no more when night came on than 
we did when the windows were firft fuddenly fhut 
in the morning^ 

In order to acquire a knowledge of this country 

it is not enough to view the whole together ; we 

K 2 muft 



132 GENERAL VIEW OP THE MIND. [PART 11. 

muft look at every part of it one after the other, 
and inftead of taking in the extent with a fingle 
look, we muft carry our eyes in fuccefTion from 
object to object. All are taught this by nature. 
She has not only endowed us with the. power of 
looking at a multitude of things at once, but alfo 
with the power of looking at but one, that is to 
fay, of fixing our eyes on them feparately and 
iingly ; and to this faculty 7 it is that we owe all the 
knowledge which we acquire by the fight. 

This is a faculty of which all men are pofTefTed ; 
yet if we fhould afterwards fpeak of this country, 
it would be found that we are not all equally well 
acquainted with it. The paintings of fome would 
be more or lcis accurate, in which many things 
would be found as they are in reality ; while thofe 
of others would be every where confuted, and in 
which it would be impoffible to make out any 
rlnng. We all, however, f aw the fame objects ; 
with this difference, that the looks of fome were 
guided by chance, and thofe of others directed 
m a certain order. 

Now, what is that order ? Nature herfelf points 
it out ;• it is that in which fhe prefents objects. 
There are fome which attract our eyes more than 
others ; they are more ftriking, and more promi- 
nent,, around which the reft feem to be arranged 
as appendages. It is thefe that are firit obferved, 
and when their refpective Situations arc fixed, the 
reft fill the intervals,, each in its place. 

Wc 



PART II.] ADVANTAGE OP ANALYZING. 133 

We begin therefore with the principal objects : 
we obferve them fucceflively, and compare them, 
in order to judge of their relative ftates. When 
by this means we have made ourfelves acquainted 
with their refpedtive fituations, we obferve fuc- 
ceflively all thofe that fill the intervals, we com- 
pare each with the principal object nearevl it, and 
fettle its pofition. 

We now diftinguifli all the objects, the form 
and fituation of which we have learned, and we 
fee them all at one look. The order that reigns 
among them is no longer fucceffive, but co-exift- 
ent : it is that in which they really lie before us, 
and we fee them all at once diflinctly. 

It is the fame with the mind as with the eye : 
it fees at once a multitude of things, and both 
the mental and corporeal fight improve with ex- 
ercife. The eyes of a good painter inftantly de- 
cry in. a landfcape, a multitude of things which 
we look at with him, and which efcape us. 

We may, by going from villa to villa, ftudy 
other profpects, and trace them like the firft. In 
this cafe it will happen that we fhall prefer one, 
or feel that each pofl'efles a peculiar charm : but 
we only judge of them by comparing them, and 
we cannot compare them but by tracing them at 
the fame time in our memory. The mind there- 
fore fees more than the eye can fee. 

To analyze then, is nothing more than to ob- 
ferve the qualities of an object in fucceffive order 3 
K 3 for 



134: GENERAL VIEW OF THE MIND. [pART II. 

for the purpofe of giving that co-exiftent ordeF 
they poflefs. This is done naturally by every one, 

Although in a profpecl: which we have ftudied 
we obferve a multitude of objects at one glance, 
flill the view is never fo diftinct as when it is cir- 
cumfcribed, and we look but at a fmall number of 
objects at once ; for we always dilcern fewer of 
them than we fee. 

As I faid before, it is with the mind as with the 
fight : a great number of ideas which are become 
familiar to us are prefent to our minds at once ; 
they are all perceived, but not all equally diftin- 
guifhed. In order to perceive, in a diftinct man- 
ner, the ideas or images that come at once into 
our minds, we muft decompofe them as we did 
the objects of our fight ; we mutt analyze our 
thoughts. 

Before we proceed to a feparate view of our fa- 
culties or mental powers, let us obferve that the 
end of thc ; r operations is the attainment of know- 
ledge. 

Knowledge is the perception or formation of 
ideas, or the discovery of lome agreement or dis- 
agreement, connexion or repugnance between 
ideas we have perceived or formed. 

An idea is the reprefentation of a thing in the 
mind raifed there by means of an impreflion made 
through our fenfes, or by an operation of the 
mind itfelf. 

Ideas 



PART II.] ADVANTAGE OF ANALYZING. 135 

Ideas that reprefent material forms are generally 
called images: immaterial thoughts are more pro- 
perly called notions. The former xvc fenfble or cor- 
poreal ideas, derived originally from our feitfei; 
and from the communication which the foul has 
with the body ; fuch are the notions we frame of 
all colours, founds, taftes, figures, or fliapes : the 
latter are intellectual ideas, gained by reflecting on 
the nature of our own fouls, turning our thoughts 
within ourfelves, and obferving what is tranfacled 
in our own minds ; fuch are the notions we have 
of thought, judgment, reafon, knowledge, zvill, love, 
fear, hope. 

By fenfation the foul contemplates things, as it 
were, out of itfelf, and gains corporeal reprefen- 
tations or fenfible ideas : by reflexion, the foul 
contemplates itfelf, and things within itfelf, and 
by this means gains fpiritual ideas, or reprefenta- 
tions of things intellectual. 

Our organs of fenfation are commonly reckoned 
to be five, namely thofe of feeling, feeing, hear- 
ing, tafting, and fmelling. The organ of feeling 
is fpread not only over the whole of the external 
parts of the body, but over many of the internal. 
The other four are each of them placed but in 
two particular parts of the body ; that of feeing in 
the eyes, that of hearing in the ears, that of tail- 
ing in the tongue and palate, and that of fmelling 
in the noftrils : as we law in the former part of 
theie elements. 

K 4 As 



136 GENERAL VIEW OF THE MIND. [PART II. 

As to the qualities or faculties of the mind, the 
ideas of which we can receive only by reflexion 
upon what paffes within us, men have been accu- 
rate in diftinguifhing them, and giving proper 
names to each, though thofe names are feldom 
properly and diftinctly applied. We will now in-. 
yeftiojate. them. 






CHAPTER 



( 137 ) 



CHAPTER II. 

Of Perception. 

PERCEPTION is that quality or that aft of 
the mind whereby it becomes confcious of any 
thing. In looking upon a houfe, a tree, a rofe, 
or any other external object, we find that each of 
them raifes feveral ideas in us, by what we call 
the fenfe of feeing : a mufical inflrumcnt when 
played upon in the room where we are, raifes fe- 
veral ideas in us by the fenfe of hearing : a nofe- 
gay held near the nofe raifes feveral ideas in us by 
what we call the fenfe of fmelling : by drinking a 
glafs of wine an idea is raifed in us by what we 
call the fenfe of tailing ; and if we touch any of 
thefe objedls it raifes in us an idea by what we 
call the fenfe of feeling. , Then by reflecting, and 
confidering this quality with which we find our- 
felves endowed, we receive an idea of the quality 
itfelf, to which idea we give the name Perception, 
or the perceptive quality. Now this idea, called 
perception, is as pofitive an idea, and as different 
from any of the ideas communicated by fenfation, 
as any of thofe ideas is pofitive, or as any of 
them is different from another. We may as poflL 

tively 



138 OF PERCEPTION. [pART 1U 

tively fay we perceive, as that we fee, hear, fmell, 
taif e, or feel ; and the perceiving quality is as dif- 
ferent from thofe, as they from one another . 

The origin of corporeal fenfibility, and mental 
perception has given rife to various theories. As 
fenfibility relates to the body merely, the enquiry 
belongs to anatomy, and we have feen that it is. 
produced by the connexion of the nerves with the 
brain ; but this bodily fenfibility is by fome faid 
to be alfo the caufe of mental perception, either 
by vibrations through the brain, or the pafling of 
a Subtle fluid, called animal fpirits. Thei'e are 
difficult queflions, and I believe are in the num-. 
ber of thofe placed out of the reach of mortal 
knowledge. Materialists refer all to the forma-, 
tion of the brain. It is highly probable^ that our 
ideas by fenfation proceed from, or are occasioned 
by, the different motion into which the constituent 
parts of our brain are put by the application of 
external objeefs to fome part of our body : but I 
am not inclined to admit that the brain is the 
chief mover of reflexion, or director of the facul- 
ties, though it may be the medium of mental 
operations. The faculties of the brute creation 
ought to be as exalted as thofe of men, were thofe* 
faculties entirely directed by the motions of the 
medullary iubitance, in which anatomifts have 
difcovered no peculiar distinction, and furcly fo 
great a difference in character would have required 
a verv dUtincl and vinble conformation of I 



organ. 






PART II.] OP PERCEPTION. 139 

organ. The Power, the incomprehenfible Power, 
that guides man to the knowledge of his nature, 
that directs him to attend to the operations of his 
mind, to inveiligate his faculties, to trace the finger 
of his Creator, is furely no motion or difpofition 
of the brain, but muft be inherent in fomething fa- 
perior to material fubftances — of that fomething I 
pretend not to have any peculiar or decided know- 
ledge, but I am not only willing, I am eager to 
call it, fpirit, foul, and to hope and to believe 
that it is the feed of immortality. To go at large 
into thefe qucftions is not my intention, for in theic 
elements I merely mean to give eafy lefTbns in 
%hc rudiments of Self-knowledge, and leaving 
them for the difcuffion of curioiity at fome future 
period of your lives, I fhall continue the defcrip- 
tion of the faculties of the Mind. 

The faculty of Perception, which has been juft 
explained to you, is a paffive faculty ; for with re- 
gard to all the ideas communicated to us either 
by fenfation or reflexion, it is entirely paffive. 
If we open our eyes we cannot help receiving the 
ideas which external objects communicate to us : 
if we reflect upon what pafles within, we cannot 
help receiving the ideas which the faculties and 
operations of our own mind communicate to us. 

Let us obferve that this perceptive faculty is of 
two forts ; one of which we call Serif at ion, where- 
by wc receive all our fimple ideas of external ob- 
jects ; and the other we call Reflexion, by which 

we 



140 OF PERCEPTION. [PART If. 

we receive all the fimple ideas of the faculties and 
operations of our own minds. The firft fort is 
common to us with brute animals, all of whom 
have it in fome degree, as we may diicover by 
their actions and motions, and fome of them feem 
to have it in greater perfection than we have : but 
the laft fort feems to be peculiar to mankind ; 
for, as far as we know, no other kind of animal 
on this globe ever received an idea of its own 
mind, or of any of the faculties or operations of it* 



CHAPTER 



( 141 ) 



CHAPTER III. 



Of the attentive or contemplative Faculty. 

AFTER we have received an idea into our 
mind, either by Senfation or Reflection, we have 
a faculty of continuing that idea in our mind, or 
of keeping it in our view for fome time, without 
allowing it to be difplaced by any other idea. 
This faculty we call Attention, or the attentive 
faculty, and when long continued, we call it 
Contemplation, or the contemplative faculty; for, 
in all civilized nations, mankind have been very 
exact in diftinguifhing, and giving proper names 
to the feveral faculties and operations of the 
Mind, though in common difcourfe thofe names 
are promifcuoufly and fometimes very improperly 
ufed. However as to its energies this faculty 
may be fubfequent to fenfe, yet is it truly prior 
to'it both in dignity and ufe : for this it is which 
retains the fee ting forms of things when things are 
gone and all fenfation at an end. The ufe of it 
is fo neceffary that we cannot properly be faid to 
have any idea in the mind until we have attended 
to it fo as to fix it there ; for we may, with our 
eyes wide open, flare upon a houfe, a horfe, or 

any 



142 OF THE ATTENTIVE OR [PART Hi 

any other object ; or the clock in my room may 
ftrike twelve without our having properly any 
idea communicated to us either by our eyes or 
ears, though thefe external objects had certainly 
the ufual natural effect upon them ; but our mind 
was fo intent upon contemplating fome particular 
idea, or meditating upon fome particular fubject, 
that we did not attend to, or take notice of. that 
effect, and confequently had no idea thereby 
communicated to the mind ; fo that even when 
we do contemplate, we do not properly contem- 
plate the external object, but only the ideas or 
idea communicated by that external 
Hence the leaft reflection mult convince us, that 
this faculty, called Attention, and confequently 
the contemplative faculty are qualities of 
ipiritual and not of the material part of our com- 
pound being, becaufe they are employed folely 
about preemptions or ideas which can exift or 
inhere only in the Mind, though many of them 
proceed originally from impreffioiis made upon 
the body by external objects ; for we have pen 
notions of things that are gone and extinct which 
cannot be made the objects of fenfation. We 
have an eafy command over the objects in our 
mind, and can call them forth in almoli what 
manner we pleafe ; but our fenfations ere necef- 
iary when their objects are prefent, nor can we 
controul them but by removing either the objects 
or ourlelves. 

It 



$>ART II.] CONTEMPLATIVE FACULTY, 143 

It muft likewife appear that both thefe faculties 
3re generally active faculties of the mind, though 
fome ideas ftrike our minds fo flrongly that we 
cannot help attending to them, fuch as the ideaa 
of excjiiifite pleafure or pain ; and fome fo very 
flrongly, that it is not in our power for fome time 
to difplace them, as may be inftanced by the 
paflions of Love and Grief. They pofTefs our 
minds fo fully, that for fome time no other idea 
can get accefs, even though affifted by our utmoffc 
endeavours. As to ideas of that kind both thefe 
faculties may be faid to be paffive ; and as to 
fuch only, they feem to belong to fome brute 
creatures. 



CHAPTER 



( 144 ) 



CHAPTER IV. 



Of the retentive Faculty , or Memory. 

IjY attending to, or contemplating any idea 
which we have received by Senfation or Reflec- 
tion, it becomes fo fixed in our mind that it re- 
mains there for a confiderable time ; whence w< 
difcover another faculty of the Mind, which we. 
call the retentive Faculty or Memory, and thi : 
muft alio be a quality of the fpirit, becaufe it i- 
employed only about ideas ; for we can remem- 
ber nothing but what we attend to, and as we 
attend to, or contemplate only our own ideas, we 
cannot be properly laid to remember any thing 
but our own ideas ; we do not remember the ex- 
ternal objects themfelves, but only thole ideas 
they raifed in our mind ; and as perceptions or 
ideas come all by the perceptive faculty, which is 
a quality of the Mind only, and cannot exift or 
inhere in our body, or in any part thereof, nor 
naturally depend on, or proceed from, any modi- 
fication or motion of the parts thereof, the ideas 
themfelves cannot exift but in the Mind ; confe- 
quently the faculty of retaining them, or of 
having their exiflence continued in the mind for 

fome 



PART II.] OF THE RETENTIVE FACULTY,&C. 145 

fome confiderable time, mufl be a quality of the 
Mind, and of the Mind only. 

As to this quality we find that thofe ideas 
which ftrike the mind moft ftrongly, or which we 
contemplate longed, fix themielves the moft 
deeply, and remain the longeft in our mind, 
whence it is, that people of lively imaginations 
and quick fancies have generally fhort memories* 
for they have fo many different ideas occurring 
every inftant, that they have not time to contem- 
plate long any one idea or fet of ideas. This 
faculty is entirely paffive, and we find that brutes 
as well as men are endued with it. 



CHAPTER 



( 146 ) 



CHAPTER V. 



Of the rccolleclive Faculty. 



XxFTER we have fo clofely attended to, or to 
long contemplated any idea, as to fix it in our 
memory, we have, we find a power of recalling 
that idea and placing it again in our view, gene- 
rally, whenever we pleafe, though feveral very 
different ideas have in the mean time intervened ; 
and this we can do by a feries of ideas, however 
connected or cafual, without the intervention of, 
or any afliftance from, the object that at firft 
raifed or produced fuch an idea in our mind. 
This faculty we call Recollection, or the rccollefi 
Faculty ; and it is fo like preception by Reflec- 
tion that it often goes by the name of Reflection; 
but the former is the proper name for it. 

As every recollection of any idea is a new con- 
templation of it, the oftencr we do recollect any 
idea the more firmly will it be rooted in our 
memory; whence it is, that people of lively ima- 
ginations and quick fancies have but fhort me- 
mories, for the lame reafon as juft before given, 
becauie they have every inftant new ideas occur- 
ring to them and therefore have not time to re- 
collect 



PART II.] OF THE RECOLLECTIVE FACULTY. 147 

collect very often any former idea or fet of ideas. 
This Faculty mull cortainly be a quality of the 
Spirit or Soul only, becaufe it is employed only 
about ideas ; and it is generally an active faculty, 
but is fometimes paffive, for one idea, or fet of 
ideas, makes us fometimes recollect others whether 
we will or not ; and fo far only as it is paffive, it 
feems to belong to brutes as well as men, 






L 2 CHAPTER 






( 148 ) 



CHAPTER VI. 



Of the Imagination. 

X HE imagination is a faculty by which we alfo 
call our ideas into our view, but though nearly 
allied to the two preceding faculties, it ought 
carefully to be diftinguifhed from them. 

When we view fome relict of fenlation repofed 
within us, without thinking of its rife, or referring 
it to any fenlible object, this is Fancy or Ima- 
gination. 

When we view fome fuch relicl:, and refer it 
withal to that fenfible object, which in time 
pari: was its caufe and original, this is Memory. 

Laftly, the road which leads to memory 
through a feries of ideas, however connected, 
whether rationally or cafually, this is Recollection. 
I have added cafually, as well as rationally, be- 
caufe a cafual connection is often fufficient. Thus 
from feeing a garment, I think of its owner; thence 
of his habitation ; fhips, fea- fights, admirals, Sec. 

If the diftinction between memory and fancy 
be not fufficiently underftood, it may be illus- 
trated by being compared to the view of a por- 
trait.. When we contemplate a portrait, without 
thinking of whom it is the portrait, fuch con- 
templation 



PART II.] OF THE IMAGINATION. 149 

templation is analogous to Fancy. When we 
view it with reference to the original, whom it 
reprefents, luch contemplation is analogous to 
Memory. 

We may go farther. Imagination or Fancy 
may exhibit (after a manner) even things that 
are to come. It is here that hope and fear paint 
all their pleafant, and all their painful pictures of 
futurity. But Memory is confined in the ftricteft 
manner to the paft. 



L 3 CHAPTER 



( 150 ) 



CHAPTER VII. 

The Comparative Faculty. 

W E likewife find, that we have a faculty or 
power, not only of continuing in our mind, and 
contemplating any one fingle idea we receive or 
form, but alio of continuing in our view for fome 
time, and contemplating two, three, or more 
ideas at one and the fame time, by which we fet 
them as it were by one another, in order to con- 
fider wherein they agree or difagree. This is an 
aclive faculty which we call comparing, or the 
Comparative faculty ; and muft certainly be a 
proper quality of the Mind, becaufe it is employ- 
ed only about ideas. This quality too feveral 
brutes are endued with, fo far as they have ideas, 
but as their ideas are but few, none of them feem, 
to have any great fhare of it. 



CHAPTER 






( 151 ) 



CHAPTER VIII. 

The Difcemhig Faculty. 

£>Y the lad faculty we find out another, which 
is that by which we difcover the agreement or 
difagreement, connection or repugnance of any 
two, three, or more ideas which we compare to- 
gether ; and fo far as it extends it is a neceffary 
confequence of the former faculty. This faculty 
we call Difcernment, or the difcerning Faculty, 
which is altogether paflive, for we cannot help 
difcovering the agreement or difagreement, con- 
nection or repugnance, of any two or more ideas, 
after the Mind has by its former faculty fairly fet 
them together in its view, when fuch an imme- 
diate comparifon can properly be made. This, 
indeed, cannot always be done, but in all cafes 
wherein it can be done, we difcover directly and 
immediately the agreement or difagreement, con- 
nection or repugnance of the ideas fo compared, 
which is generally confidered as the fecond Hep 
towards Knowledge, that of acquiring ideas be- 
ing certainly the ntft ; and the difcovery made 
by fuch an immediate comparifon of two or 
more ideas, when llich comparifon can be made, 

L 4 we 



iff* 



152 THE DISCERNING FACULTY. [PART II. 

we call intuitive knowledge, which is the moft 
certain and evident fort of knowledge we are ca- 
pable of. 

By this Faculty we difcover that the two or 
more ideas we have in view are not the fame, 
but are two different ideas. This Faculty as well 
as the former muff be a quality of the Spirit be- 
caufe it is employed only about ideas. Thus, 
after we have feen a red and a white rofe, and 
from them acquired and retained two ideas of co- 
lour, we can afterwards, when they are not pre- 
fent in our view, recollect thefe two ideas of co- 
lour, and by comparing dilcern, that they are 
not the fame, but that they are two different 
ideas ; and even when the two rofes are both pre- 
fent in our view, we cannot difcern that the two 
ideas of colour are different, until we have con- 
templated and compared thefe two ideas together, 
which procefs of the mind is frill more evident 
when we fee a red rofe to-day, and compare it 
with the idea of colour communicated to our 
mind by a red rofe we faw yefterday ; for though 
the ideas are different as to time, yet if the rofes 
be of the fame kind, we conclude, or rather dif- 
cern, that the ideas are the fame, that is to fay, 
of the fame kind of colour. Indeed, upon the 
fight of two rofes at the fame time, we form an 
idea of difference, from the different places they 
are in, fo naturally and fo quickly, that we do 
not take notice of the progreis of the Mind in 

receiving 



PART II.] THE DISCERNING FACULTY. 153 

receiving the two ideas, comparing them together 
and difcerning the difference, unlefs we advert to 
it very narrowly; and this progrefs we do not 
take notice of, becaufe it is lb inftantaneous that 
we cannot eaiily diftinguifh between the beginning 
and the end of the time in which it is made, 
therefore we are apt to conclude, that the Mind 
makes no progrefs, but that it fees or perceives by 
fight, compares and difcerns all at once, though 
when we come to confidcr exactly our ideas of 
thefe three faculties of the Mind, we muft con- 
clude, that it muft fee or perceive before it can 
compare, and that it muft compare before it can 
difccrn. 

It is by means of this faculty of difcerning that 
we form the ideas of Identity and Diverfity, which 
are two words that have much perplexed fome 
philofophers. It is likewife by means of thefe 
two faculties of comparing and difcerning that 
we form all thofe ideas of Relation which we get 
by Intuition, and which may be called natural 
ideas, becaufe both the comparifon and discern- 
ment are fo quick and neceiiary, that the Mind 
feems to be entirely paffive, though, in compar- 
ing, it muft always be in fome degree adlive. 
This faculty of difcerning moft brutes are endued 
with, though it feems only to be with refpe6l to 
their natural ideas : whereas in mankind this fa- 
culty extends not only to all our natural, but to 
many of our artificial ideas, and even to many 

propofitions, 



154 THE DISCERNING FACULTY. [PART II, 

proportions, which for that reafon are called 
Axioms, and are the fecondary foundation of 
our knowledge in every Science ; on which ac- 
count they have by many been fuppofed to be 
innate, though it be the faculty of difcerning only 
that is innate, and not the ideas or proportions 
themfelves, juft as our powers of Seeing and Hear- 
ing are innate, yet no one ever fuppofed that our 
ideas of colours or founds were innate ; and as 
thefe fenfes may be more perfect in one man 
than another, fo we rind that the difcerning fa- 
culty is much more perfect in feme men than in 
others. 



CHAPTER 



( 155 ) 



CHAPTER IX, 

Of the abjlrattmg Faculty. 

/Vs we have before hinted, all the ideas. we re- 
ceive by Senfation, and many of thofe we receive 
by Reflection, prefent themfelves to our mind in 
knots or bundles ; and with every knot or bundle 
of ideas which we receive by fenfation, the ideas 
of time and place always prefent themfelves. 
But we have a power to feparate the ideas in 
any one of thofe bundles, not only from the 
ideas of time and place, but from one another ; 
and to confider any one of them by itfelf alone, 
without any of the others that came along with 
it. For example, the general idea of exiftence 
never offered itfelf to our Senfation or Reflection, 
without fome thing that did exift; yet we find 
we have a power of feparating and confidering 
this idea by itfelf alone, without having refpect to 
any of thefe ideas that came at firft along with it, 
and from this idea fo feparated and confidered by 
itfelf alone, we form that general idea which we 
call Exiftence, being an idea which of all others 
is moll general, fince we intuitively perceive that 
it mull belong to every object that ever did, or 

ever 



156 OF THE ABSTRACTING FACULTY. [PART II. 

ever can prefent itfelf to our mind, or even to 
our imagination : for even an imaginary objedl 
muft. have an imaginary exiftence. Again the 
idea we call Impenetrability or Solidity was never 
communicated to the Mind without being ac- 
companied with fome other ideas ; but we have a 
power of feparating and confidering this idea by 
itfelf alone, and thereby forming that general idea 
which we call by this name. So likewife the idea 
we call Motion was never communicated to our 
mind without fomething that did move ; yet we 
can feparate and confider this idea by itfelf alone, 
and without attending to any of the other ideas 
that accompanied it into oar mind ; by which 
means we form the general idea to which we give 
the name Motion. This faculty therefore we call 
the abftracl'mg Faculty, which is an active faculty, 
and muft be a quality of the Spirit only, as it is 
employed only about ideas, and that too about 
forming ideas which never did exiit in any objeel 
by themfelves alone, or any where but in the 
Mind. This Faculty is one of the richer! foun- 
tains of our knowledge, and one of the chief fa- 
culties by which our fpirits are diftinguifhed from 
and excel the fpirits of the brute creation ; for it is 
by this faculty we form all our general ideas, which 
ought therefore to be called artificial ideas, and no 
brute feems to have ever formed any fuch ideas. 



CHAPTER 



( 157 ) 



CHAPTER X. 

Of the compounding Faculty, 

XT has been already obferved, that as all the 
knowledge we are, or can be mailers of de- 
pends upon, or proceeds originally from thole 
fimple or natural ideas which we receive by Sen- 
fation or Reflexion, and as thofe ideas which we 
receive by Senlation, always pre fen t themfelves to 
our mind in knots or bundles, to every one of which 
bundles the ideas of time and place are always 
annexed. Now by the former faculty we abftracl: 
from, or leave out of, thofe knots or bundles the 
ideas of time and place, and we find we have a 
faculty or power of confidering all the reft as al- 
ways exifting together in the fame objeel:, where 
or whenever it prcients itielf to our view, and 
of uniting them together in our mind, fo as to 
form a new idea, to which we give a particular or 
a proper name. Thus we obferve that the fight 
of any particular man, wherever or whenever we 
fee him, always communicates to our mind a cer- 
tain bundle of ideas, befides the ideas of time and 
place ; therefore after abftracting or bearing out 
the ideas of time and place, we unite all the other 
ideas together, and of thefe ideas fo united we 

form 



158 OF THE COMPOUNDING FACULTY. [PART it. 

form anew ideas, to which we give the name 
Papa, Father, John, or Thomas. In the fame 
manner we find, that every particular man, or 
horfe, always prefents to our mind a certain bundle 
of ideas, therefore from every bundle we abftra6l 
the ideas of time and place, and alfo all thofe 
particular ideas by which we diflinguifh one man, 
or horfe, from another, and the ideas remaining in 
the bundle we unite together into a new idea, to 
which we give the name of Man or Horfe. This 
Faculty we call the Compounding Faculty, which 
is an active faculty, and being employed only 
about ideas, it muft confequently be a quality of 
the fpirit only. It is by this faculty we form all 
our ideas of fubftances, to fome forts of which 
we give proper names, but to moil we give only 
a general name, by which we mean to figniiy the 
general or abftracl compound idea we have form- 
ed of all the fubftances of that fort ; and whe- 
ther we give a proper or a general name, it is 
evident that all the ideas thus formed are artificial 
ideas. We much doubt if brutes have any great 
degree of his faculty ; for although a dog very 
well knows his mafter, yet it may be by fome 
particular fenfation, for example the lmell, and 
not by any compound idea he has formed of 
him. 



CHAPTER 



( 15 9 ) 



CHAPTER XL 



Of the reafoning Faculty. 

JDESIDES our faculty of comparing two, three, 
or more ideas together, in order to difcern their 
agreement or difagreement, connection or repug- 
nance, we find we have another faculty which 
we are obliged to make ufe of when we cannot 
fet two ideas together in our mind fb as to dif- 
cern, or to difcover by intuition, whether there 
be any agreement or difagreement, connection or 
repugnance between them ; for in fuch a cafe we 
call to our affiftance a third idea, and we ntft 
compare one of the two ideas with this third 
idea, then we compare the other two ideas with 
this third idea, and often difcern or difcover by 
intuition an evident agreement or difagreement 
between each of the two ideas and this third 
idea, therefore we neceffarily conclude, or thus 
intuitively difcover an agreement or difagreement 
between the two ideas themfelves. This Faculty 
we call the Reafonhig Faculty, which is an active 
faculty ; and our idea of this faculty occurs fo 
often, and makes fo ftrong an impreflion upon 
our minds, that we often talk of it as if it were 

a being 



160 OF THE REASONING FACULTY. [PART tti 

a being exifting by itfelf. As it is employed 
only about ideas, it mull be a quality of the 
fpirit, and of the fpirit alone, although whilft 
the fpirit continues united with the body, the 
exercife of it depends, by the appointment of the 
great Author of both, upon a proper ftate and 
difpofition of fome certain parts of the body ; 
and the cafe we find to be the very fame with 
refpect to every other fpiritual quality we are 
endued with, which is an evident proof of its 
being the will and the defign of the Author of 
nature, that the fpirit fhould take as much care 
as poflible of the body to which it is by his ap- 
pointment united. 

We likewife find, that by this our Reafonin^ 
Faculty we can purfue an enquiry through 
feveral intermediate ideas, and by difcerning or 
intuitively difcovering the progreffive agreement 
or difagreement of all the intermedite ideas, we 
become almofi as certain of the agreement or 
difagreement of the two extreme ideas as if 
we could have fet them together, and immedi- 
ately by intuition diicerned their agreement or 
difagreement, connection or repugnance ; in all 
which cafes the difcovery we make is called 
Demonfiration, which is the third frep towards 
knowledge ; and the knowledge this way ac- 
quired is almofi: as certain and evident, as the 
knowledge acquired by intuition. 

CHAPTER 



( 161 ) 



CHAPTER XII. 



Of the judging Faculty. 

JL HE faculty we have juft defcribed, called 
Reafoning, we are often obliged to make ufe of 
in another way, and that is, when we cannot find 
out fuch intermediate ideas as can certainly and 
intuitively mew us the agreement or difagreement 
between any two ideas which we intend to com- 
pare ; we then compare them with other ideas 
which do not certainly and intuitively mew us 
an agreement or difagreement between thefe two 
ideas, but produce a Probability of their agreeing 
or difagreeing, and our difcernment or conclufion 
we in this cafe call Judgment, or the Judging 
Faculty ; which is abfolutely paflive, and the 
judgment we thereby form may be called the 
fourth flep towards knowledge : but it is much 
more uncertain than any of the former, for it 
admits of leveral degrees of certainty, from what 
we call almoft certain to what we call poffible or 
barely poffible, and is often very different, and 
fometimes contrary in different men. By this 
and the preceding faculty it is, that we form all 
the reft of our ideas of Relation, all of which 
M mult 



162 



OF THE JUDGING FACULTY. [PART II. 



mult be artificial ideas ; and the Faculty itfelf 
mull be a quality of the fpirit only, as it is em- 
ployed only about ideas ; for we can judge of 
nothing until after we have received or formed an 
idea of it, and according to thofe ideas only we 
can and muft judge, if we judge at all, for we 
may fufpend, or forbear to make ufe of this fa- 
culty, during which time we fay we are in Sufpenc* 
or Doubt. 



CHAPTER 






( JG3 ) 



CHAPTER XIII. 

Of the inventing Faculty. 

JlSY confidering the two preceding faculties, we 
cannot avoid difcovering another faculty with 
which we find ourfelves endued ; for in order to 
difcover the certainty or the probability of the 
agreement or difagreement, connection or repug- 
nance, of any two ideas which we intend to com- 
pare together, we find we have a faculty of 
fearching through our whole magazine of ideas 
for thole that are mod proper for our purpofe. 
This Faculty we call the Inventing Faculty ; which 
being employed only about ideas muft be a quality 
of the Spirit only. This is properly an active 
faculty of the Mind ; for though we often dif- 
cover fuch intermediate ideas, as it were by 
chance, yet unlefs the mind were intent upon the 
contemplation of the two ideas it refolves to com- 
pare together, and attending to, and examining 
every idea that occurs to its memory, in orde,r to 
difcover and apply fuch as may be fit for its pur- 
pofe, it could not difcover the ufe of that inter- 
mediate idea, which thus offers itfelf, as it were, by 
chance. This faculty, therefore, as it is employed 
M 2 only 



- 






164 OF THE INVENTING FACULTY. [PART II. 

only about ideas, mull be a quality of the Spirit ; 
and tbofe three faculties of reafoning, judging, 
and inventing, fome of the brute creation feem to 
have a fhare of, but not in any thing like an equal 
degree to that which mankind are generally en- 
dued with. 

As there is no confining mankind in common 
converfation to a ftrict and metaphyfical ufe of 
words, we ufually apply the name of reafon to the 
faculties of inventing, realbning, and dilcerning, 
or judging : For example, we fay, a man is a man 
of ftrong reafon, when we find he is apt at in- 
venting the proper intermediate ideas, at ranging 
them in their proper order, and at difcerning or 
judging of their progreflive agreement or dif- 
agreement ; whereas that of ranging them in their 
proper order is what ought only to be called rea- 
lbning ; and when a man can at once contem- 
plate, compare, and difcern, or judge of a great 
number of fuch progreilive ideas, we lay he is a 
man of a quick and ltrong comprehenlion. 



CHAPTER 



( 165 ) 



CHAPTER XIV, 

Of the faculty of Volition. 

\VE find we have not only a faculty or power 
of felf-motion, and of moving or forbearing to 
move our body, and feveral of the members there- 
of, when and which way we pleafe ; but we like- 
wife have the liune power or faculty of governing 
and applying or exercifing all the active faculties 
of our mind. We can, generally ipeaking, con- 
template, recollect, compare, abitracl:, compound, 
or reafon, whenever we pleaie, refpecting what 
ideas we pleafe, and as long or fhort while as 
we have a mind ; and we change the object about 
which we have employed thofe faculties of our 
mind, as often as we pleafe. And all this with- 
out any external caufe, or external motive, but 
merely a choice or preference of the mind order- 
ing and commanding fuch change. This faculty 
with which we fo evidently find ourfelves endued, 
I call Volition or the Will. It is to be obfcrved 
alfo, that this faculty occurs to our obiervation fo 
often, and produces fuch a ftrong idea of itlelf 
in our mind, that we often look upon it not as a 
mere quality of another being, but as a being 
M 3 fubfiliing 



166 OF THE FACULTY OF VOLITION. [pART II. 

fubfifting by itfelf ; for if we did not, it would 
be ridiculous to apply to it thofe qualities which 
we call neceflary and free. 

As the term Free-will is often made ufe of, we 
mufi: obferve, that it then is, or ought always to 
be put in oppofition to that fort of will by which 
a man acts when he is compelled to act by the 
fear of being fubjected to fome great evil, if he 
refufe to act. In this cafe indeed the Will cannot 
be faid to be abfolutely free, becaufe it is forced • 
but even in this cafe he cannot be faid to have 
acted neccfTarily, becaufe he might have chofen 
to have undergone the threatened evil, rather than 
act as directed, of which we have in hiftory 
many celebrated examples. This faculty of Vo- 
lition is therefore an active faculty, and is cer- 
tainly a proper quality of the Spirit or Soul, as it 
depends upon, and proceeds from, the lpirit or 
foul, and from that alone ; for, although the mo- 
tions of the body, and fome of the members 
thereof, be directed by this faculty, yet its direct- 
ing thefe motions does not ultimately depend 
upon, nor is necefiarily caufed by, all or any one 
of the fenfes, but by the fpirit alone, which is 
abfolute mafter of this its own faculty. For ex- 
ample, the fenfe of pain, though it be generally 
the occafion or motive, yet it is not the caufe, of 
our moving our body, or any part of our body, 
from that which raifes in us the idea or fenle of 
pain; becaiife we know, that we have it in our 

power 



PAKTII.] OF THE FACULTY OF VOLITION. \(tf 

power to remain fteady and unmoved againft the 
utmoft effort! of the molt racking torments, as 
happened in the cafe of Mucius Scaevola, that 
brave Roman, and alio in the deplorable cafe of 
many of the firft martyrs to Chriftianity, and often 
does happen in every age and every country. On 
the contrary, therefore, we nm ft admit, that all the 
motions of the body, and 01 fuch members thereof 
as are under the dominion of the Will, ultimately 
depend upon, and are caufed by, the Spirit or 
Soul, which, by means of this its faculty, called 
Volition, directs and orders thofe motions when 
and which way it pleafes. The Spirit therefore is 
the firft mover, and the fole and ultimate cauie of 
all its own determinations, and of all the volun- 
tary motions of the body committed by the 
Author of nature to its care. It is true, the 
Spirit feldom acts without a motive ; but as there 
are generally feveral, and often contrary motives 
for every determination of the Will, the Spirit 
lias in itfelf the power to chufe which motive its 
Will mail be directed by upon every particular 
occafion ; and the Spirit of man feems, in this re- 
flect, to have a more abfolute power than we can 
obferve in any brute ; as we are not ib much di- 
rected by our paflions and affections as they are 
by their inftincts and appetites. 

This power of chufing which motive wc are to 

be directed by, is what we properly call the 

M 4 faculty 



168 OF THE FACULTY OF VOLITION. [pARTII. 

faculty of Volition, and every man who reflects 
upon what he feels within, muft be intuitively 
convinced, that he is endued with fuch a faculty 
or power, however much he may endeavour to 
deceive himfelf and others by metaphyseal and 
fophiftical arguments, efpecially by that of con- 
founding the caufe with the motive, which are 
two words meant to exprefs very different ideas, 
and confequently are far from being fynony- 
mous. Nay, fo abfolutely free is the Will of the 
human Spirit, that it may chufe to be directed 
by that which it judges to be the worft motive ; 
or it may chufe to act contrary to every motive, 
or without any motive at all ; and this laft man- 
ner of acting is fo well known, and lb common, 
that we have dignified it with a particular name^ 
by calling it Whim. 



CHAPTER 



( 169 ) 



CHAPTER XV, 



Of the defigning Faculty, 

X* ROM the confederation of the lafl faculty we 
difcover another faculty with which we find our- 
felves endued, and which may, properly enough, 
be called /w/ttr* Volition', but it is generally called 
by the name of Defign, We determine to do 
fuch an action, or to think upon and confider 
fuch a fubjecl: to-morrow, next day, or at any 
future time, and find we have a power or faculty 
of thus determining. This faculty we call the 
defigning Faculty > which is an active faculty, and 
muft be a faculty of the Spirit, as it proceeds 
folely from the Will, and is, as we have faid, a 
future volition ; for determining and defigning 
are only two modes of willing, the former whereof 
relates to the prefent time, and the latter to the 
future. 



CHAPTER 



( 170 ) 



CHAPTER XVI. 



Of the Jorefeemg Faculty. 

-DY the laft mentioned faculty we come naturally 
to difcover another faculty which we call the fore- 
feeing faculty. In forming a defign, or in confi- 
dcring the actions and incidents of life, we find, 
wc have a power or faculty to examine and dif- 
cover fomething of what may be neceffary for our 
luccefs, and of what may probably be the confe- 
quences, which is often of great ufe to us in any 
prefent undertaking, but of Hill more in our 
future defigns : for, after having formed any de < 
fign, we contemplate and confider what may be 
proper or neceffary for putting our defign into 
execution, and what may prevent it ; the latter of 
which we endeavour to obviate, or avoid, and the 
former we purfue. This faculty muft be a faculty 
of the Spirit, becaufe it is employed wholly about 
ideas of things and actions which have not yet 
happened, which exift no where but in the mind, 
and which confequently cannot poilibly be the 
object of any of our Senfes. With refpe& to 
thefe three laft faculties, all brutes leem to be en- 
dued with fome fort of Will ; but as to Delign or 

Forefighta 



PART II.] OF LIBERTY* 171 

Forefight, it is probable that all the tefiimoriies 
they exhibit of either, proceed chiefly from in- 
itinct: and even as to their Will, it is in inoft of 
them very much under the dominion of their 
inftincls and appetites, for which reafon they 
never act, as men do, from mere whim, or ugainft 
every motive that can be fuggefted. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

Of Liberty. 

A Cannot difmifs this important faculty without 
inveftigating the fubjecl: more maturely than I 
have done in the chapter on Volition. Such is 
the nature of the foul that the Will not only acts 
always fpontaneoufly, that is, by its own proper 
motion, of its own accord, and by an internal 
principle; but likewife that its determinations are 
generally accompanied with liberty. 

We give the name of Liberty to that force or 
power of the foul, whereby it modifies and regu- 
lates its operations as it pleafes, fo as to be able to 
fufpend, continue, or alter its deliberations and 
actions ; in a word, lb as to be capable of deter- 
mining 



172 OP LIBERTY*. [PART IT, 

mining and acting with choice, according as it 
thinks proper. It is by this excellent faculty, that 
man has a kind of command over himfelf and his 
actions ; and he is hereby rendered alfo capable of 
conformingto rule, and anfwerable for his con duel:; 
it is therefore neceiTary to give a further explica- 
tion of the nature of this faculty. 

Will and Liberty being faculties of the foul, they 
cannot be blind, or destitute of knowledge ; but 
necefikrily fuppofe the operation of the under- 
standing. How is it poiTible, in fact, to deter- 
mine, fufpend, or alter our reiblutions, unlefs we 
know what is proper for us to chufe ? It is con- 
trary to the nature of an intelligent and rational 
being to act without intellect ion and reafon. This 
reafon may be either fuperficial or bad ; yet it has 
ibme appearance, at leaft, fome glimmering, that 
makes us give it a momentary approbation. 
Wherever there is election or choice, there mull 
be a companion ; and a companion implies, at 
leaft, a confuted reflexion, a kind of deliberation, 
though of a quick and almali: imperceptible nature, 
on the fubject before us. 

The end of our deliberations is to procure as 
fome advantage. For the will tends generally to- 
wards good, that is, to whatfoever is really or ap- 
parently proper for rendering us happy; inafmuch 
that all actions depending on man, and that arc 
anyway relative to his end, are, for this very reafon, 
fuhject to the Will. And as truth, or the know- 
ledge 



*ART II.] OF LIBERTY. 173 

ledge of things, is agreeable to man, and in this 
fignification truth is alio a good, it follows there ■ 
fore that truth forms one of the principal objects 
of the Will. 

Liberty, like the Will, lias goodnefs and truth 
for its obeject ; but it has lefs extent with regard 
to actions ; for it does not exercife itfelf in all the 
acts of the Will, but only in thofe which the foul 
has a power of fufpending or altering as fhe pleafes. 

But if any one mould enquire, which are thofe 
acts wherein Liberty difplays itfelf? We anfwer, 
that they are eafily known by attending to what 
pafles within us, and to the manner, in which 
the mind conducts itfelf in the feveral cafes that 
daily occur : as in the ntft place in our judgments 
concerning true and falfe ; fecondly, in our deter- 
minations in relation to good and evil ; and 
finally, in indifferent matters. Thefe particulars 
are necefTary in order to be acquainted with the 
nature, ufe, and extent of Liberty. 

With regard to truth, we are formed in fuch 
a manner, that as foon as evidence ftrikes the 
mind, we are no longer at liberty to fufpend our 
judgment. Vain would be the attempt to refifl 
this fparkling light ; it abfolutely forces our affent. 
Who, for example, could pretend to deny that: 
the whole is greater than its part, or that harmony 
and peace are preferable, either in a family or 
ftate, to difcord, tumult, and war. 

The fame cannot be affirmed in regard to things, 

that 



174 OF LIBERTY* [PART It. 

that have lefs perfpicuity and evidence ; foi in 
thefe the ufe of liberty difplays itfelf in its full ex- 
tent. It is true our mind inclines naturally to 
that fide which feems the moft probable ; but 
this does not debar it from fufpending its afTent 
in order to feek for new proofs., or to refer the 
whole inquiry to another opportunity. The ob- 
fcurer things are, the more we are at liberty to he- 
lltate, to fufpend, or defer our determinations. 
This is a point fufficiently evinced by experience. 
Every day, and at every ftep, as it were, difputes 
arife, in which the arguments on both fides leaves 
us, by reafon of our limited capacity, in a kind 
of doubt and equilibrium, which permits us to 
fufpend our judgment, to examine the thing 
anew, and to incline the balance at length to one 
fide more than the other. We find, for example, 
that the mind can hefitate a long time, and for- 
bear determining itfelf, even after a mature in- 
quiry, in refpect to the following queltions : 
Whether anoath extorted by violence is obligatory? 
Whether the murder of Ca^far was lawful ? 
Whether the Roman fenate could with juftice re- 
fute to confirm die promife made by the confuls 
to the Samnites, in order to extricate themfelves 
from the Caiuihie Forks ; or whether they ought 
to have ratified and given it the force of a public 
trea'y ? &c. 

Though there is no exercife of liberty in our 
judgments, when things prefent themfelves to us 

in 



PART II.] OF LIBERTY. 175 

in a clear and a diftincl: manner ; it 111 we muft not 
imagine that the entire ufe of this faculty ceafes in 
refpecl: to things that are evident. For in the 
firft place, it is always in our power to apply our 
minds to the confideration of thofe things, or elfe 
to divert them from it by transferring fome- 
where elfe our attention. This firft determination 
of the will, by which it is led to confider, or not 
to confider, the objects that occur to us, merits 
particular notice, becaufe of the natural influence 
it muft have on the very determination, by which 
we conclude to act or not to act, in confequence 
of our thoughts and judgments. Secondly, we 
have it likewife in our power to create, as it were, 
evidence in fome cafes, by dint of attention and 
inquiry ; whereas at firft fetting out we had only 
fome glimmerings, fufficient to 'give us an adequate 
knowledge of the ftate of things. In fine, when we 
have attained this evidence, we are ftill at liberty 
to dwell more or lefs on the confideration there- 
of ; which is alio of great confequence, becaufe 
on this depends its greater or lefs degree of im- 
preffion. 

Thefe remarks lead us to an important re- 
flexion, which may fervefor anfwerto an objection 
raifed againft Liberty. "It is not in our power, 
fay they, to perceive things otherwife than as they 
offer themfelves to our mind ; now our judg- 
ments are formed on this perception of things ; 
and it is by thefe judgments that the will is deter- 
mined '• 



X*6 Of LIBERT!'. [PART II. 

mined ; the whole is therefore neceflary arid in- 
dependent of Liberty." 

But this difficulty carries little more with it 
than an empty appearance. Let people fay what 
they will, we are always at liberty to open or fhut 
our eyes to the light ; to fuftain, or relax our at- 
tention. Experience mews, that when we view 
an object in different lights, and determine to 
fearch into the bottom of matters, we delcry 
feveral things that efcapcd us at firit fight. Tins 
is fufficient to prove, that there is an exercife of 
Liberty in the operations of the underftanding, a 
well as in the feveral actions thereon depending. 

The fecond queftion we have to examine is. 
whether we are equally free in our determinations, 
in regard to good and evil. 

To decide this point we need not fiir out of our 
f elves ; for here alfo by facts and even by our in- 
ternal experience the queftion may be determined. 
Certain it is, that in refpect to good and evil con- 
iulered in general, and as fuch, we cannot, properly 
fpcaking, exercife our Liberty, by reafoo that we 
feel ourfelves drawn towards the one by an in- 
vincible propenlity, and eftranged from the other 
by a natural and infuperable averiion. Thus it 
has been ordered by the Author of our being, 
whilil man has no power in this refpect to change 
his nature. We are formed in fuch a manner, 
that good of neceflity allures us ; whereas evil, by 
an oppofite effect, repels us, as it were, and de- 
ters us from attempting to purfue it. 

But 



TART II.] OF LIBERTY". 177 

But this ftrong tendency to good, and natural 
averfion to evil in general, do not debar us from 
being perfectly free in refpect to good and evil 
particularly considered ; and though we cannot 
help being fenfible of the firlt impreilions which 
the objects make on us, yet this does not invinci- 
bly determine us to purfue or fhun thofe objects. 
Let the mod beautiful and molt fragrant fruit, re- 
plenifhed with exquifite and delicious juice, be 
unexpectedly fet before a perfon opprefTed with 
thirft and heat ; he will find himfelf inftantly in- 
clined to feize on the blefTing that is offered to 
him, and to eafe his inquietude by a falutary re- 
frefhment. But he can alfo ftop, and fufpend 
his action, in order to examine whether the good 
he propofes to himfelf by eating this fruit, will 
not be attended with evil ; in fhort, he is at li- 
berty to weigh and deliberate, in order to embrace 
the fafeft fide of the queftion. Befides, we are not 
only capable, with the afflftance of reafon, to de- 
prive ourfelves of a thing, whofe flattering idea 
invites us ; but moreover we are able to expofe 
ourfelves to a chagrin or pain, which we dread 
and would willingly avoid, were we not induced" 
by fuperior confiderations to fupport it. Can any 
one defire a flronger proof of Liberty ? 

True it is notwithstanding that the exercife of 
this faculty never difplays itfelf more than in in- 
different things. I find, for inftance, that it de^- 

N pend-:. 



1/8 OF LIEERTY. [PART II. 

pends entirely on myfelf to ftretch out or draw 
back my hand ; to fit down or to walk ; to direct 
my fteps to the right or left, &c. On thele oc- 
casions, where the foul is left entirely to itfelf, 
either for want of external motives, or by reafon 
of the oppofition, and, as it were, the equilibrium 
of thefe motives, if it determines one iide, this 
may be faid to be the pure effect of its pleafure 
and good will, and of the command it has over its 
own actions. 

Let us flop here a while to inquire, how comes 
it that theexercife of this pewer is limited to par- 
ticular goods and non-evident truths, without ex- 
tending itlclf to good in general, or to fuch truths 
as are perfectly clear. Should we happen to dif- 
covcr the reafon thereof, it will furnifh us with a 
new fubjecl: to admire the wifdom of the Creator 
in the conftitution of man, and with a means at 
the fame time of being better acquainted with the 
end and true life of Liberty. 

And lirft, we hope there is no body but will ad- 
mit, that the end of tiod in creating man was to 
render him happy. Upon this luppofition, it will 
be foon agreed that man cannot attain happinefs 
any other way than by the knowledge of truth, 
and by the poiYeflion of real good. Let us therefore 
direct our reflexions towards this profpect. When 
things, thatarc the object of our relearches, prefent 
themfelves to our minds with a feeble light, and 

are 






PART II.] OF LIBERTY. 179 

are not accompanied with that fplendor and 
clearnefs, which enables us to know them perfect- 
ly, and to judge of them with full certainty ; it 
is proper and even neceffary for us to be inverted 
with a power of fufpending our judgments ; to 
the end that not being necefTarily determined to 
acquiefce in the firft impreflions, we fhould be 
frill at liberty to carry on our inquiry, till we arrive 
to a higher degree of certainty, and, if poflible, as 
far as evidence itfelf. Were not this the cafe, we 
fhould be expofed every moment to error, with- 
out any poffibility of being undeceived. It was 
therefore extremely ufeful and neceffary to man, 
that under fuch circumflances he fhould have the 
ufe and exercife of his Liberty. 

But when we happen to have a clear and diftinct 
view of things and their relations, that is, when 
evidence ftrikes us, it would be of no manner of 
fignification to have the ufe of Liberty in order 
to fufpend our judgments. For certainty being 
then in its very higheft degree, what benefit fhould 
we reap by a new examen or inquiry, were it in 
our power ? We have no longer occaiion to con- 
fult a guide, when we fee diftinctly the end we 
are tending to, and the road we are to take. It is 
therefore an advantage to man to be unable to re- 
fufe his affent to evidence. 

Let us reafon pretty nearly in the fame manner 
on the ufe of Liberty with refpect to good and 
evil. Man defigned for happinefs, fhould cer- 

N 2 tainly 



ISO OF LIBERTY. [PART IT. 

tainly have been formed in fuch a manner, as to 
find himfelf under an abfolute neceffity of denting 
and purfuing good, and of fhunning on the con- 
trary evil in general. Were the nature of theie 
faculties fuch, as to leave him in a ftate of in- 
difference, fo as to be at liberty in this refpect 
to fufpend or alter his defires, plain it is that this 
would be efteemed a very great imperfection in 
him; an imperfection that would imply a want of 
wifdom in the Author of his being, as a thing di- 
rectly oppofite to the end he propofed in giving 
him life. 

No lefs an inconveniency would it be on the 
other hand, were the neceflity which man is under 
of purfuing good and avoiding evil to be fuch as 
would infuperably determine him to act or not to 
a^t, in confequence of the imprefiions made on 
him by each object. Such is the ftate of human 
things, that we are frequently deceived by appear- 
ances ; it is very rare that good or evil prefents 
itfelf to us pure and without mixture ; but there 
is almoft always a favourable and adverle lide, an 
inconveniency mixed with utility. In order to act 
therefore with fafetv, and not to be miftaken in 
our account, it is generally incumbent upon u^ 
to fufpend our firft motions, to examine more 
clofely into things, to make diftinctions, calcula- 
tions, and compenlations ; all which requires the 
ufe of Liberty. Liberty is therefore, as it were, a 
fubfidiary facultv, which fupplies the deficiencies 

cf 



PART II.] OF LTBEfcTT. IS! 

of the other powers, and whofe office ceafeth as 
foonas it has redreflcd them. 

Hence let us conclude, that man is provided 
with all the neceflary means for attaining to the 
end for which he is defigned ; and that in this, as 
in every other rcfpecl:, the Creator has acted with 
wonderful wifdom. 

After what has been faid concerning the na- 
ture, operations, and ufe of Liberty, it may feem 
perhaps unnecefTary to attempt here to prove that 
man is indeed a free agent, and that we are as 
really invefted with this as with any other faculty. 

Neverthelefs as it is an effential principle, and 
one of the fundamental fupports of our edifice, 
it is proper to make the reader fenfible of the in- 
dubitable proof with which we are furnifhed by 
daily experience. Let us therefore confult only 
ourf elves. Every one finds that he is mailer, for 
inilance, to walk or fit, to fpeak or hold his 
tongue. Do not we alfo experience continually, 
that it depends intirely on ourfelves to fufpend 
our judgments, in order to proceed to a new in- 
quiry ? Can any one ferioully deny, that in the 
choice of good and evil our refolves are uncon- 
ftrained ; that notwithftanding the firft impref- 
fions, we have it in our power to ltop of a fudden, 
to weigh the. arguments on both fides, and to do, 
infhort, whatever can be expected from the freeft 
agent ? Were I invincibly drawn towards one par- 
ticular good rather than another, I mould feel then 

N 3 the 






182 OF LIBERTY. [PART II, 

the fame impreffion as that which inclines me to 
good in general, that is, an impreffion that would 
neceiTarily drag me, an impreffion which there 
would be no poffibility of refitting. Now ex- 
perience makes me feel no fuch violence with re- 
fpe6f. to any particular good. I find I can abftain 
from it ; I can defer ufing it ; I can prefer fome- 
thing elfe to it ; I can hefitate in my choice ; in 
fhort, I am my own mafter to chufe, or which is 
the fame thing, I am free. 

Should we be aiked, how comes it, that not 
being free in refpect to good in general, yet we 
arc at liberty with regard to particular goods ? 
My anfwer, is that the natural defire of happinefs 
does not infuperably draw us towards any par- 
ticular good, becaufe no particular good includes 
that happinefs for which we have a necelYary in- 
clination. 

Senfible proofs, like thefe, are fuperior to all 
objections, and productive of the moft inward 
conviction, becaufe it is impoffible that when 
the ioul is modified after a certain manner, it 
fhould not feel this modification and the ftate 
which consequently attends it. What other cer- 
tainty have we of our cxillence ? And how is it we 
know that we think, we act, but by our inward 
fenle? 

This fenfe of Liberty is lb much the lefs equi- 
vocal, as it is not momentary or tranfient. It is 
a fenfe that never leaves us, and of which we have 
daily and continual experience. 

Thus 



PART II.] OF LIBS HTn 

Thus we fee there is nothing better cilahliilied 
in life, th:in the 1'trong perfuafion which all man- 
kind liave of Liberty. Let us confider the fyftem 
of humanity, either in general or particular, we 
fhall find that the whole is built upon this princi- 
ple. Ueiiexions, deliberations, refearches, ac- 
tions, judgments : all fuppofe the ufe of Liberty. 
Hence the ideas of good and evil, of Vice and vir- 
tue : hence, as a natural confequence, arifes 
praife or blame, the cenfure or approbation of 
our own, or other people's conduct. The fame 
may be laid of the affections and natural lenti- 
ments of men towards one another ; as friendihip, 
benevolence, gratitude, hatred, anger, com- 
plaints, and reproaches : none of thefe fentiments, 
could take place, unlefs we were to admit of 
Liberty. In fine, as this prerogative is in fome 
meafure the key of the human fyitem, he that 
does not allow it to man, fubverts all order, and 
introduces a general confufion. 

It is natural here to inquire, how it was ever 
poffible for any body ferioufly to doubt, whether 
man is mailer of his acYions, whether he is free ? 
I fhould be leis furprizecl at this doubt, where it 
concerning a ftrange or remote fadr, a fuel: that 
was not tranfa&ed within ourfelves. But the 
queition is in regard to a thing, of which we have 
an internal immediate feeling, a conltant and 
daily experience. Strange, that any one fhould 
call in queition a faculty of the foul 1 May not 
N 4 we 



1S4 OF LIBERTY. [PART II, 

we as well doubt of the underftanding and will, 

as of the Liberty of man ? For if we are content to 

abide by our inward ienfe > there is no more room 

to difpute of one than of the other. But fome 

too fubtle philofophers, by confidering this fub- 

ject in a metaphyseal light, have ftripped it, as it 

were, of its nature ; and finding themfelvcs at a 

lofs to folve a few difficulties, they have given a 

greater attention to thefe difficulties than to the 

pofitive proofs of the thing ; which infenfibly led 

them to imagine that the notion of Liberty was 

all an illufion. I own it is neceffary, in the re- 

icarch of truth, to confider an object on every 

fide, and to balance equally the arguments for 

and againft ; nevertheleU wc muft take care we 

do not give to thofe objections more than their 

real weight. We are informed by experience 

that in lcveral things, which in relpecl: to us are 

inverted with the higheit degree of certainty, there 

are many difficulties notwithstanding, which we 

are incapable of refolving to our fat intact ion : and 

this is a natural coniequence of the limits of 

the mind. Let us hence, conclude therefore 

that when a truth is fuffidently evinced by foftd 

reqfonsy whatever can be objected agahmfl it, ought 

not to Jf agger or weaken our co/rvicfioa, <js faffg 

they arejkch difficulties only as embarrafs orfuz 

the. mind, without iwihdaiing the proofs them/eh 

This rule is fo very ufeful in the ftudy of the 

fcienccs, that one (hould keep it always in light. 

Tl 



PART II.] OF LIBERTY. 185 

There is a wide difference between feeing that a 
thing is abfurd, and not knowing all that regards 
it ; between an unanfwerable queftion in relation 
to a truth, and an unanfwerable objection againft 
it ; though a great many confound thefe two forts 
of difficulties. Thofe only of the laft order are 
able to prove, that what was taken for a known 
truth cannot be true, becaufe other wife fome ab- 
surdity mull enfue. But the others prove nothing 
but the ignorance we are under in relation to 
leveral things that regard a known truth. Let us 
relume now the thread of our reflexions. 

The denomination of voluntary or human ac- 
tions in general is given to all thofe that depend 
on the will ; and that of free, to fuch as come 
within thsjurifdiction of Liberty, which the foul 
can fufpend or turn as it pleafes. The bppofite 
of voluntary is involuntary ; and the contrary of 
free is necelfary, or whatever is done by force or 
conftraint. All human actions are voluntary, in- 
afmuch as there are none but what proceed from 
ourfelves, and of which we are the authors. But 
if violence, ufed by an external force, which we 
are incapable to refill, hinders us from acting, or 
makes us act without the confent of our will ; as 
when a perfon llronger than ourfelves lays hold of 
our arm to ftrike or wound another perfon, the 
action refulting thence being involuntary, is 
not, properly fpeaking, our deed or action, but 
that of the agent from whom we fuffe;r this violence. 

The 



186 OP LIBERTY. [TART II. 

The fame cannot be faid of actions that are 
forced and conftrained, only as we are determined 
to commit them through fear of a great and im- 
minent evil with which we are menaced : As, for 
inftance, were an unjuft and cruel prince to 
oblige a judge to condemn an innocent perlon, by 
menacing to put him to death if he did not obey 
his orders. Actions of this fort, though forced in 
fome fenfe, becaufe we commit them with re- 
luctancy, and would never content to them were 
it not for a very preifing neceiiity ; fuch actions, 
I fay, are ranked nevertheless among the number 
of voluntary actions, becaufe after all, they are 
produced by a deliberation of the will, which 
chufes between two inevitable evils, and deter- 
mines to prefer the leaft to the greateir. This will 
become more intelligible by a few examples. 

A perfon gives alms to a poor man, who expofes 
his wants and mifery to him ; this action is at the 
fame time both voluntary and free. But fuppofe 
a man that travels alone and dilarmed, tails into 
the hands of robbers, and that tlieie mifcreants 
menace him with inltant death, unlets he gi 
them all he lias ; the furrender which this traveller 
makes of his money in order to lave his life, is in- 
deed a voluntary action, but conttrained at the 
fame time, and void of Libertv. For which Raton 
there are fome that diftinguiih thele actions by the 
name of mixt, as partaking of the voluntary and in- 
voluntary. They are voluntary, becaufe the principle 

that 



PART II.] OF LIBERTY. 187 

that producesthem is in the agent itf elf, and the will 
determines to commit them as the lead of two 
evils : but they partake of the involuntary, be- 
cause the will executes them contrary to its in- 
clination, which it would never do, could it find 
any other expedient to clear itfelf of the dilemma. 

Another neceifary elucidation is, that we are to 
fuppofe that the evil with which we are menaced, 
is confiderable enough to make a reafonable im- 
preflion upon a prudent or wife man, fo far as to 
intimidate him ; and befides that, the perfon who 
compels us has no right to reftrain our liberty ; 
infomuch that we do not lye under an obligation 
of bearing with any hardfhip or inconveniency, 
rather than difpleafe him. Under thefe circum- 
stances,, reafon would have us determine to fufFer 
the lefTer evil, fuppofing at leaft that they are 
both inevitable. This kind of conftraint lays us 
under what is called a moral neceffit} ; whereas 
when we are abfolutely compelled to a6t, without 
being able, in any fhape whatfoever, to avoid it, 
this is termed a phylical neceffity. 

It is therefore a necefTary point of philofophical 
exactnefs to diftinguifh between voluntary and free. 
In fact it is eafy to comprehend, by what has been 
now faid, that all free actions are indeed voluntary, 
but all voluntary actions are not free. Neverthe- 
lefs, the common and vulgar way of fpeaking fre- 
quently confounds thole two terms, of which we 
ought to take particular notice, in order to avoid 
all ambiguity. 

We 



ISS 



OF LIBERTY. 



[part II 

We give likewife the name of manners fometimes 
to free actions, inafmuch as the mind confiders 
them as fufceptible of rule. Hence we call mo- 
rality the art which teaches thofe rules of conduct, 
and the method of conforming thereto our actions. 

We fhall finifh what relates to the faculties of 
the foul by fome remarks, which will help us to 
tinderftand better their nature and ufe. 

1 . Our faculties affifh one another in their ope-- 
rations, and when they are all united in the fame 
lubject, they act always jointly. We have already 
obferved that the will fuppofes the underftanding, 
and that the light of reaibn fervcs for a guide to 
liberty. Thus the underftanding, the will, and 
liberty; the fenfes, the imagination, and memory; 
the inftincts, inclinations, and paifions, are like fa 
many different fprings, which concur all to 
produce a particular effect ; and it is by this 
united concurrence we at length attain the know- 
ledge of truth, and the pofleilion of folid good, 
on which our perfection and happinefs depend. 

2. But in order to procure to ourfelvcs thofe 
advantages, it is not only necefTary that our faculties 
be well conftituted in themlelves, but moreover we 
ought to make a good ufe of them, and maintain 
the natural fubordination there is between them 
and the different motions, which lead us towards, 
or divert us from, certain objects. It is not 
therefore furficient to know the common and na- 
tural Hate of our faculties ; we fliould likewife be 

acquainted 



FART II.] OP LIBERTY. 189 

acquainted with their ftate of perfection, and 
know in what their real ufe confifts. Now truth 
being the proper object of the underftanding, 
the perfection of this faculty is to have a 
diftinct knowledge of truth ; at leaft of thofe 
important truths, which concern our duty and 
happinefs. For fuch a purpofe, this faculty 
fhould be formed to a clofe attention, a juft dif- 
cernment, and folid reafon ing. The underfland- 
ing thus perfected, and confidered as having 
actually the principles which enable us to know 
and to diftinguifh the true and the ufeful, is what 
is properly called reafon ; and hence it is that we 
are apt to fpeak of reafon as of a light of the mind, 
and as of a rule by which we ought always to be 
directed in our judgments and actions. 

If we confider in like manner the will in its irate 
of perfection, we mall find it confifts in the force 
and habit of determining always right, that is, not 
to defire any thing but what reafon dictates, and 
not to make ufe of our liberty but in order to 
chufe the belt. This fage direction of the will is 
properly called Virtue, and fometimes goes by the 
name of Reafon. And as the perfection of the 
foul depends on the mutual fuccours which the fa- 
culties, confidered in their moil perfect irate, lend 
to one another ; we underftand likewife fometimes 
by reafon, taken in a more vague, and more ex- 
tenfive fenfe, the foul itfelf, confidered with all 
its faculties, and as making actually a good ufe of 

them, 



190 OF LIBERTY, [PAKTir. 

them. Thus the term reafon carries with it always 
an idea of perfection, which is fometimes applied 
to the foul in general, and at other times to fome 
of the faculties in particular. 

3. The faculties of which we are treating, are 
common to all mankind ; but they are not found 
always in the fame degree, neither are they deter- 
mined after the fame manner. Befidcs, they have 
their periods in every man ; that is, their increafe, 
perfection, enfeebling, and decay, in the fame 
manner almoft as the organs of the body. They 
vary likewife exceedingly in different men ; one 
has a brighter underftanding ; another a quicker 
fenfation; this man has a ftrong imagination; while 
another is fwayed by violent paffions. And all this 
is combined and diverlifled an infinite number of 
ways, according to thedifTerence of temperaments 
education, examples, and occafions that furnifh an 
opportunity for exercifing certain faculties or in- 
clinations rather than others; for it is the exci\ 
that itrengthens them more or leis. Such is the 
fource of that prodigious variety of geniufes, taltes, 
and habits, which constitutes what we call the 
characters and manners of men ; a variety which, 
conlidered in general, very far from being un- 
ferviceable, is of great ufe in the views of Provi- 
dence. 

But whatever ltrength may be attributed to the 
inclinations, paffions, and habits, lull it is necei- 
fary to obferve, that they have never enough to 

impel 



PART II.] OF LIBERTY. 191 

impel man invincibly to act contrary to reafon. 
Reafon has it always in her power to prefcrve her 
fupetiority and rights. She is able, with care and 
application, to correct vicious difpofitions, to pre- 
vent and even to extirpate bad habits ; to bridle 
the moft unruly paflions by fage precautions, to 
weaken them by degrees, and finally to deftroy 
them entirely, or to reduce them within their pro- 
per bounds. This is fufficiently proved by the 
inward fenfe, that every man has of the liberty 
with which he determines to follow this fort of 
impreffions ; proved by the fecret reproaches we 
make to ourfelves, when we have been too much, 
fwayed by them ; proved, in fine, by an infinite 
variety of examples. True it is, that there is 
fome difficulty in furmounting thefe obftacles ; 
but this is richly compenfated by the glory at- 
tending fo noble a victory, and by the iolid ad- 
vantages thence arifing. 



CHAPTER 



( J 92 ) 



CHAPTER XVIII. 



Of Qonfcience. 

V^ONSCIENCE is properly no more than rea- 
fon itfelf confide red as inflructed in regard to the 
rule we ought to follow, or to the law of nature ; 
and judging of the morality of our own actions, 
and of the obligations we are under in this re- 
fpect, by comparing them to this rule, purfuant 
to the ideas we entertain thereof. 

Conicience is alio very frequently taken for the 
very judgment we pafs on the morality of actions ; 
a judgment which is the refult of perfect, realbn- 
ing, or the confequence we infer from two expref- 
or tacit premifes. A perfon compares two pro- 
portions, one of which includes the law, and the 
other the action ; and thence he deduces a third, 
which is the judgment he makes of the quality of 
his action. Such was the reafoning of Judas : 
JVhofoever delivers up an itmoeent man to death, 
commits a crime ; here is the law. Now this is 
what I have done ; here is the action. 1 1: 
therefore committed a crime ; this is the confe- 
quence, or judgment which his conicience palled 
on the action he committed. 

Confcience 



t»ART II.] OF CONSCIENCE, 1<J3 

Confcience fuppofes therefore a knowledge 
the law ; and particularly of the law of nature, 
which being the primitive fource of juftice, is 
likewife the fupreme rule of conduct. And as 
the laws cannot ferve us for rules, but inafmucli 
as they are known, it follows therefore, that con- 
fcience becomes thus the immediate rule of our 
actions : for it is evident we cannot conform to 
the law, but fo far as we have notice of it. 

This being premifed, the firjl mle we have to 
lay down concerning this matter is, that we muft 
enlighten our confcience, as well as confult it s 
and follow its counfels. 

We muft enlighten our confcience ; that is, we 
mull fpare no care or pains to be exactly in- 
ftructed with regard to the will of the legiflator, 
and the difpofition of his laws, in order to acquire 
juft ideas of whatever is commanded, forbidden? 
or permitted* For plain it is, that were we in 
ignorance or error in this refpect, the judgment 
we fhould form of our actions would be neceffarily 
vicious, and would confequently lead us a ft ray. But 
this is not enough. We mult join to this firft 
knowledge, the knowledge alfo of the action. 
And for this purpofe, it is not only necefTary to 
examine this action in itfelf ; but we ought like- 
wile to be attentive to the particular circumftances 
that accompany it, and the confequenccs that 
from thence may follow. Otherwife we mould 
run a rilk of being miftaken in the application of 

O the 



194 OF CONSCIENCE. [?ART If, 

the laws, whofe general decifions admit of feveral 
modifications, according to the different circum- 
ftances that accompany our actions ; which necef- 
farily influences their morality, and of courfe our 
duties. Thus it is not fufhxient for a judge to be 
well acquainted with the tenor and purport of the 
*aw, before he pronounces fentence ; he mould 
likewiie have an exact knowledge of the fact and 
all its different circumftances. 
. But it is not merely with a view of enlightening 
our reafon, that we ought to acquire ail this know- 
ledge ; it is principally in order to apply it occa- 
sionally to the direction of our conduct. We 
mould therefore, whenever it concerns us to act, 
eoafult previoufly our conference, and be di- 
rected by its counfels. This is properly an in- 
difpenlable obligation. For, in line, conscience 
being, as it were, the minifter and interpreter of 
the will of the legiflator, the counfels it gives us, 
e ail the force and authority of a law, and 
;u' to produce the fame effect upon us. 
it is only therefore by enlightening our con- 
ference, that it becomes a litre rule of conduct, 
whofe dictates may be followed with a perfect con- 
fidence of exactly fulfilling our duty. For we 
mould be groiily miftaken, if, under a notion 
that conference is the immediate rule of our 
actions, we were to believe that every man may law- 
fully do whatever he imagines the law commands 
or permits, We ought firft to know whether this 

notion 



I*ART II.] OP CONSCIENCE. 195 

notion or perfuafion is juftly founded. For, as 
Puft'endorf obferves, conscience has no fhare in 
the direction of human anions, but inafmuch as 
it is inflructed concerning the law, whole office 
it properly is to direct our actions. If we have 
therefore a mind to determine and act with fafety, 
we muft, on every particular occafion, obferve 
the two following rules, which are very fimple of 
-themfelves, eafy to practife, and naturally follow 
our firfl rule, of which they are only a kind of 
elucidation. 

Second rule. Before we determine to follow the 
dictates of confeience, we fhould examine tho- 
roughly whether we have the necefTary lights and 
helps to judge of the things before us. If we 
happen to want thefe lights and helps, we can 
neither decide, nor much lefs undertake any 
thing, without an inexcufable and dangerous te- 
merity. And yet nothing is more common than to 
tranfgrefs againft this rule. What multitudes, for 
example, determine on religious difputes, or diffi- 
cult queftions concerning morality or politics, 
though they are no way capable of judging or 
reafoni ng about them ? 

Third rule. Supjtofing that in general we have 
necefTary lights and helps to judge of the affair 
before us, we muft afterwards fee whether we 
have actually made uie of them; infomuch, that 
without a new enquiry we may follow what our 
confeience fttggefts. It happens every day that 

O 2 



196 OF CONSCIENCE. [PART II. 

for want of attending to this rule, we let our- 
felves be quietly prevailed upon to do a great 
many things, which we might eafily difcover to 
be unjuft, had we given heed to certain clear 
principles, the juftice and neceffity of which are 
universally acknowledged. 

When we have made ufe of the rules here laid 
down, we have done whatever we could and 
ought ; and it is morally certain, that by thus 
proceeding we can be neither miftaken in our 
judgment, nor wrong in our determinations. But 
if, notwithstanding all thefe precautions, we fhould 
happen to be miftaken, which is not abfolutely 
impoflible ; this would be a fault of infirmity, inse- 
parable from human nature, and would carry its 
cxcufe along with it in the eyes of the fupreme 
legiflator. 

We judge of our actions cither before, or after 
we have done them ; wherefore there is an antece- 
dent and a fublequent confcience. 

This diftinction gives us an opportunity to lay 
down a fourth rule ; which is, that a prudent man 
ought to confult his confcience before and after he 
has acted. 

To determine to act, without having previor. 
examined, whether what we arc going to do be 
good or evil, manifeftly indicates an indifference 
lo our duty, which is a moll dangerous ftate in 
refpect to man ; a ftate capable of throwing him 
into the moll fatal exceiles. But as, in 'this riift 

judgment! 



TAUT II.] OV CONSCIENCE. 197 

judgment, we may happen to be determined by 
paflion with precipitation, or upon a very flight in- 
vestigation; it is therefore necefrary to reflect again 
on what we have done, either in order to be con- 
finned in the right fide, if we have embraced it ; 
or to correct our mi Hake, if poffible, and to guard 
againfl the like faults for the future. This is fo 
much the more important, as experience fhews 
us, that we frequently judge quite differently of 
a paft and of a future traniaction ; and that the 
prejudices or pafiions which may lead us aflray, 
when we are to take our refolution, often 
difappear either in the whole or part, when the 
action is over; and leave us then more at liberty 
to judge rightly of the nature and confequences of 
the* action. 

The habit of making this double examination, is 
the effential character of an honeft man ; and in- 
deed nothing can be a better proof of our being 
fcrioufly inclined to difcharge our feveral duties. 

The effect refulting from this revifal of our 
conduct, is very different, according as the judg- 
ment we pais on it, abfolves or condemns us. In 
the firft cafe, we find ourfelves in a flate of fatis- 
faction and tranquillity, which is the fureft and 
fwceteft rccompence of virtue. A pure and un- 
tainted pleafure accompanies always tho(e actions 
that are approved by reafon ; and reflection re- 
news the fweets we have rafted, together with 
their remembrance. And indeed what greater 

O 3 happinefs 



198 OF CONSCIENCE. [PART II. 

happinefs is there than to be inwardlyfatisfied, and 
to be able with a juft confidence to promife our- 
felves the approbation and benevolence of the fo- 
vereign Lord, on whom we depend ? If, on the 
contrary, confcience condemns us, this con- 
demnation muni be accompanied with inquietude, 
trouble, reproaches, fear, and remorie ; a ftate fo 
difmal, that the ancients have compared it to that 
of a man tormented by the furies. " Every 
crime," fays the fatyrift, " is difapproved by the 
very perfon that commits it ; and the firft punifh- 
ment the criminal feels, is, that he cannot avoid 
being felf- condemned, were he even to find means 
of being acquitted before the praetor's tribunal. 

ci Exemplo quodcunque malo committitur, ipfi 
Difplicet auclori : prima haec eft ultio. quod, fe 
Judice, nemo nocens ab blvitur, improba quamvis 
Gratia fallaci praetoris vicerit urna." 

Juv. Sat. 13. vcr. 1. 

<( He that commits a fin, fhall quickly find 
The preffing guilt lie heavy on his mind ; 
Though bribes or favour mall afiert his caufe, 
Pronounce him guiltlefs, and elude the laws : 
None quits him felf ; his own impartial thought 
Will damn, and confcience w ill record the fault." 

Creech. 

Hence the fubfequent confcience, is faid to be 
quiet or uneafy, good or bad. 

The 



PART II J OF CONSCIENCE^ 1<J9 

The judgment we pafs on the morality of our 
actions is likewife fufceptiblc of feveral different 
modifications that produce new diftincfions of 
conference, which we mould here point out. 
Thefe diftinctions may, in general, he equally ap- 
plied to the firft two fpecies of conicience above- 
mentioned ; but they feem more frequently and 
particularly to agree with the antecedent con- 
fcience. 

Conference is therefore either decifive or dubi- 
ous, according to the degree of perfuafion a perfon 
may have concerning the quality of the action. 

When we pronounce decifively, and without 
any hefitalion, that an action is conformable or 
oppofite to the law, or that it is permitted, and 
confequently we ought to do or omit it, or elfe 
that we are at liberty in this refpect ; this is called 
a decifive conscience. If, on the contrary, the 
mind remains in fufpenfe, through the conflict of 
reafons we fee on both fides, and which appear to 
us of equal weight, infomuch that we cannot tell 
to which fide we ought to incline ; this is called 
a dubious conicience. Such was the doubt of 
the Corinthians, who did not know whether they 
could eat things facrificed to idols, or whether 
they ought to abftain from them. On the one 
fide, the evangelical liberty feemed to permit it ; 
on the other, they were reftrained through appre- 
heniion of feeming to give thereby a kind of con- 
lent to idolatrous acts. Not knowing what refc- 

O 4 lution 



200 OF CONSCIENCE. [pART II, 

lution to take, they wrote to St. Paul to remove 
their doubt. 

This diilinction makes room alfo for fome rules. 

Fifth rule. We do not entirely difcharge our 
duty, by doing with a kind of difficulty and re- 
luctance, what the decifive confcience ordains ; 
we ought to fet about it readily, willingly, and 
with pleafure. On the contrary, to determine 
without hefitation or repugnance, againft the 
motions of fiich confcience, is fhewing the Ligheft 
degree of depravation and malice, and renders a 
perfon incomparably more criminal than if he were 
impelled by a violent paflion or temptation. 

Sixth rule. With regard to a dubious con- 
fcience, we ought to life all endeavours to get rid 
of our uncertainty, and to forbear acting, fol'ng 
as we do not know whether we do good or evil. 
To behave ourielves otherwife, would indicate an 
indirect contempt of the law, by expoling one's 
felf voluntarily to the hazard of violating it, which 
is a very bad conduct. The rule now mentioned 
ought to be attended to, efpecially in matters of 
great importance. 

Seventh rule. But if we find ourfelves in iiich 
circumflances as neceflarily oblige us to deter- 
mine to a6r, we muft then, by a new attention, 
endeavour to cliitinguifh the fafeitand molt proba- 
ble fide, and of which the confequences are If aft 
dangeroi s. Such is generally the oppofite iide to 
pailion ; it being the fafeit way, not to lilten too 

much 






TART II.] OF CONSCIENCE. £0! 

much to our inclinations. In like manner, we 
run very little rifk of being miflaken in a dubious 
cafe, by following rather the dictates of charity 
than the fuggeftions of felf love. 

Befides the dubious confeience, properly fo 
called, and which we may likewife diftinguifh by 
the name of irrefolute, there is a fcrupulous con - 
fcience, produced by flight and frivolous difficul- 
ties that arife in the mind, without feeing any lblid 
reafon for doubting. 

Eighth rule. Such fcruples as thefe ought noj- 
to hinder us from acting, if it be neccfTary ; and 
as they generally arife cither from a falfe delicacy 
of confeience, or from grofs fupcrftition, we fhould 
foon get rid of them, were we to examine the 
thing with attention. 

Let us obferve, that the deciflve confeience, 
according as it determines good or evil, is either 
right or erroneous. 

Thofe, for example, who imagine we ought to 
abftain from Uriel: revenge, though the law of 
nature permits a legitimate defence, have a right 
confeience. On the other hand, thofe who think 
that the law which requires us to be faithful to 
our engagements, is not obligatory towards here- 
tics, and that we may lawfully break through it in 
refpecl: to them, have an erroneous confeience. 

But what mull we do in cafe of an erroneous 
eonicience ) 

Ninth 



202 &F CONSCIENCE. [PART II, 

Ninth rule. I anfiver, that we ought always to 
follow the dictates of confcience, even when it is 
erroneous, and whether the error be vincible ox 
invincible. 

This rule may appear ftrange at firft fight, 
fmce it feems to prefcribe evil ; becaufe there is 
no manner of queftion, but that a man who acts 
according to an erroneous conscience, efpoufes a 
,bad caufe. Yet this is not fo bad, as if we were 
to determine to do a thing, with a firm perfuafion 
of its being contrary to the deciiion of the law ; 
for this would denote a dire 61 contempt of the 
legiflator and his orders, which is a moit vicious 
difpoiition. Whereas the fir ft refolution, though 
bad in itfelf, is nevertheleis the effect of a lauda- 
ble difpofition to obey the legiflator, and conform 
to his will. 

But it does not thence follow, that we are 
always excufable in being guided by the dictates 
of an erroneous confcience ; this is true only when 
the error happens to be invincible. If on the 
contrary it isfurmountable, and we are miftaken in 
refpect to what is commanded or forbidden, we 
fin either way, whether we act. according to, or 
againft the decifions of confcience. This fhews 
(to mention it once more) what an important con- 
cern it is to enlighten our confcience, becaufe, 
in the cafe juft now mentioned, the perfon with 
an erroneous confcience is actually under a me- 
lancholy neceffity of doing ill, whichever fide he 

takes. 



JPART II.] OF CONSCIENCE. 203 

takes. But if we fhould happen to be miftaken- 
with regard to an indifferent thing, which we arc 
erroneoufly perfuaded is commanded or forbidden, 
we do not iin in that cafe, but when we adtcon-- 
trary to the light of our own confeience. 

In fine, there are two forts of right confeience ; 
the one clear and demonftrative, and the other 
merely probable. 

The clear and demonftrative confeience is that 
which is founded on certain principles, and on 
demonftrative reafons, io far as the nature of mo- 
ral things will permit; infomuch that one may 
clearly and distinctly prove the rectitude of a 
judgment made on fuch or fuch an action. On 
the contrary, though we are convinced of the 
truth of a judgment, yet if it be founded only on 
verifimilitude, and we cannot demonftrate its cer- 
tainty in a methodical manner, and by incontefti- 
ble principles, it is then only a probable con- 
feience. 

The foundations of probable confeience are in 
general authority and example, fupported by a, 
confufed .notion of a natural ntnefs, and fonie- 
times by popular reafons, which feem drawn from 
the very nature of things. It is by this kind of 
confeience that the greatefl: part of mankind are 
conducted, there being very few who are capable 
of knowing the indiipenfable necefllty of their 
duties, by deducing them from their iirft fourccs 
by a methodical train of confequences ; efpecially 

when 



204 OF CONSCIENCE. [PART II, 

when the point relates to maxims of morality 
which being fomewhat remote from the firfr. prin- 
ciples, require a longer chain of reafonings. This 
conducl is far from being unreafonable. For 
thofe who have not fufficient light of themfelves 
to judge properly of the nature of things, cannot 
do better than recur to the judgment of en- 
lightened perfons ; this being the only refource 
left them to acl with fafety. We might in this 
refpect compare the perfons now mentioned, to 
young people, whofe judgment has not yet ac- 
quired its full maturity, and who ought to lifien 
and conform to the counfels of their fuperiors. 
The authority therefore, and example of fage and 
enlightened men, may in fome cafes, in default 
of our own lights, prove a reafonable principle of 
determination and conducl:. 

But, in fine, fince thofe foundations of proba- 
ble confcience are not fo folid as to permit us ab- 
folutely to build upon them, we mult therefore 
eftablifh, as a Tenth rule, that we ought to ufe all 
our endeavours to increafe the degree of verifimi- 
litude in our opinions, in order to approach as 
near as poilible to the clear and demonstrative 
confcience ; and we mull not be fatisfled with 
probability, but when we can do no better. 



CHAPTER 



( 205 ) 



CHAPTER XIX. 

Of Immortality. 

JLrfET us conclude this view of the mental fa- 
culties with the moft- important of all enquiries 
to man ; whether death be really the laft term of 
our exiftence, and the diffblution of the body be 
neceflarily followed with the annihilation of the 
foul; or whether the foul is immortal, that 
is, whether it fubfifts after the death of the 
body ? 

Now the immortality of the foul is fo far from 
being in itfelf impoflible, that realbn fupplies us 
with the frrongeft conjectures, that this is in reality 
the ftate for which it was defigned. 

§. 1 . The obfervations of the ableft philofophers 
diftinguifh abfolutely the foul from the body, as 
being of a nature efTentially different. 1. In fac~b 
we do not find that the faculties of the foul, the 
underilanding, the will, liberty, with all the ope- 
rations they produce, have any relation to thofe 
of exteniion, figure and motion, which are he 
properties of matter. 2. The idea we have of an 
extended fubflaiice as purely pafTive, fe^ivj: to be 
abfolutely incompatible with that proper and in- 
ternal 



206 OF IMMORTALITY*. [VaRTII, 

ternal activity which diftinguiihes a thinking be- 
ing. The body is not thrown into motion of it- 
felf ; but the mind finds inwardly the principle 
of her own movements : ihe a6b, me thinks, fhe 
wills, ihe moves the body ; Ihe turns its operations 
as (he pleafes ; (lie Hops, proceeds, or returns the 
way fhe went. 3. We obferve likewife, that our 
thinking part is a limple, {ingle, and indivifihle 
being; becaufe it collects all our ideas and 
fenfations, as it were, into one point, by un- 
derltanding, feeling, and comparing them, &c. 
which cannot be done by a being compoied of 
various parts. 

^.2. The foul feems therefore to be of a parti- 
cular nature, to have nothing in common with 
grofs and material beings, but to be a pure fpirit, 
that participates in fome meafure of the nature of 
the fupreme Being. This has been very elegantly 
exprciied by Cicero : " We cannot find, lays 
he *, on earth the leaft trace of the oi 
foul. For there is nothing mixed or compound in 

the 



* " Aiiimorurn nulla in terris nihil 

enim in animis mix. turn atque o >n 
natum atqne fiftum effe rideatui : i 
quid?m aut ftabile ant i I - 

quod vim memoriae, mentis, coj 
pn-eterita teaeat, & fatura provideat, & 
fentia : quae fola divina funtj nee in UDquam, a 

ad hominem venire poffint nifi a Dzo. S 



PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY". 207 

the mind ; nothing that fecms to proceed from 
the earth, water, air, or fire. Thefc elements 
have nothing productive of memory, underitand- 
ing, reflexion ; nothing that is able to recall the 
pall:, to forefee the future, and to embrace the 
prefent. We frail never find the fource from 
whence man has derived thole divine qualities, 
but by tracing them up to God. It follows there- 
fore, that the foul is endowed with a lingular na- 
ture, which has nothing in it common with thofe 
known and familiar elements. Hence, let the na- 
ture of a being that has fenfation, understanding, 
will, and principle of life, be what it will, this 
being is furely heavenly, divine, and confequently 
immortal.' ' 

This conclufion is very juft. For if the foul 
is effentially diftincl: from the body, the de- 
ftru&ion of the one is not neceffarily followed 
with the annihilation of the other ; and thus 
far nothing hinders the foul from fubfi fling not- 
vvithfranding the deilruclion of its ruinous ha- 
bitation. 

§. 3. Should it be faid, that we are not fuffi- 
ciently acquainted with the intrinfic nature of 
fubftances, to determine that God could not 

quredem natura at que vis animi, ftjun<9.a ab his ufitatis 
notifque naturis. Ita quicquid eft illud, ' quod fentit, 
quod fapit, quod vlrit, quod viget, coelefte et divinuin ob 
eamque rem aeternura fit neceira eft," Cic. Tufcul. difput* 
Jib. i. cap 

communicate 



208 OF IMMORTALITY. [pART II. 

communicate thought to fome portion of matter ? 
I mould anfwer, that we cannot however judge 
of things but according to their appearance and 
our ideas; otherwife, whatever is not founded on 
a ftridl demonffration, muft be uncertain in the 
fciences ; which would terminate in a kind of 
pyrrhonifm. All that reafon requires here of us, 
is, that we diftinguifh properly between what is 
dubious, probable, or certain ; and as all we 
know in relation to matter, docs not fcem to have 
any affinity with the faculties of the foul ; and as 
we even find in one and the other, qualities that 
feem incompatible ; it is not prefcribing limit 
the Divine Power, it is rather following the no- 
tions that reafon has furnifhed us, to affirm that 
jt is highly probable, the thinking part of man is 
effentially diftinct from the body. 

§.4. But let the nature of the foul be what it 
will, and be it even, though contrary to all ap- 
pearance, iiippoled corporeal ; ft ill it would no 
ways follow, that the death of the body muft ne- 
ceflarily bring on the annihilation of the foul. 
For we do not find an inftance of any annihilation 
properly fo called. The body itfelf, how infe- 
rior foever to the foul, is not annihilated by 
death. It receives, indeed, a great alteration ; 
but its fubftance remains always effentially l 
fame, and admits only a change of modi heat ion 
or form. \Y hy therefore fhould the foul be an- 
nihilated I It will undergo, if you pleafe, a great 

mutati 



?ARTI1.] OP IMMORTALITY. 20£ 

mutation ; it will be loofed from the bonds that 
fallen it to the body, and will be incapable of 
operating in conjunction with it: but is this an 
argument that it cannot exift feparately, or that it 
lofes its efTential quality, which is that of under- 
itanding ? This does not at all appear, for one 
does not follow from the other. 

Were it therefore impoffible for us to deter- 
mine the intrinfic nature of the foul, yet it would 
be carrying the thing too far, and concluding 
beyond what we are authorifed by fact to main- 
tain, that death is neceflarily attended with a to- 
tal destruction of the foul. The queftion is 
therefore reducible to this point : is God willing 
to annihilate, or to preferve the foul ? But if 
what we know in reipect to the nature of the 
foul, does not incline us to think it is deftined to 
perifh by death ; we fhall fee likewife, that the 
consideration of its excellency is a very ftrong pre- 
fumption in favour of its immortality. 

§.5. And indeed it is not at all probable, that 
an intelligent being, capable of knowing fuch a 
multitude of truths, of making fo many difcove- 
ries, of reafoning upon an infinite number of 
things, of difcerning their proportions, fitnefs, 
and beauties ; of contemplating the works of the 
Creator, of tracing them up to him, of obferving 
his deiigns, and penetrating into their caufes ; of 
railing himfelf above all fcnlible things, to the 
knowledge of fpiritual and divine fubjects ; that 

P Lf 



210 OF IMMORTALITY. [PART II* 

has a power to act with liberty and difcernment, 
and to array itfelf with the moft beautiful virtues ; 
it is not, I fay, at all probable, that a being 
adorned with qualities of fo excellent a nature, 
and fo fuperior to thofe of brute animals, ihould 
have been created only for the fhort ipace of this 
life. Thefe confiderations made a lively impref- 
fion upon the ancient philofophers. " When I 
confider," fays Cicero * 9 l * the furprizing activity 
of the mind, fo great a memory of what is pair, 
and fuch an iniight into futurity ; when I behold 
fuch a number of arts and fciences, and fuch a 
multitude of difcoveries thence arifing ; I be- 
lieve, and am firmly perfuaded, that a nature 
which contains fo many things within itfelf, can- 
not be mortal." 

§. (3. Again : fuch is the nature of the human 
mind, that it is always capable of improvement, 
and of perfecting its faculties. Though our 
knowledge is actually confined within certain li- 
mits, yet we fee no bounds to that which we are 
capable of acquiring, to the inventions we are 
able to make, to the progrefs of our judgment, 
prudence, and virtue. Man is in this reipect al- 
ways iulceptible of fome new degree of perfection 

* " Quid multa? Sic mihi perfuafi, fie fentio, cum tanta 
oelcritas animorum lit, tanta memoria prasteritorum, tutu- 
rorumque prudentia, tot artes, tant:c fcientiae, tot inventa, 
non poffc* eain naturam, quae res ea^ coDtineat, effe mortaleni." 
Cic. de S«ooc\ cap. 2. 

and 



JPART II.] OP IMMORTALITY 211 

and maturity. Deatli overtakes him before lie 
has finifhed, as it were, his progrefs, and when 
he was capable of proceeding a great deal farther. 
" How can it enter/' lays a celebrated EnglilTi 
writer *, " into the thoughts of man, that the 
foul, which is capable of fuch immenfe perfec- 
tions, and of receiving new improvements to all 
eternity, fhall fall away into nothing almoft as 
as foon as it is created ? Are fuch abilities made 
for no purpofe ? A brute arrives at a point of 
perfection that he can never pals : in a few years ' 
he has all the endowments he is capable of; and 
were he to live ten thoufand more, would be the 
fame thing he is at prefent. Were a human foul 
thus at a ftand in her accomplifhments, were her 
faculties to be full blown, and incapable of further 
enlargements, I could imagine it might fall away 
infenfibly, and drop at once into a Itate of anni-^ 
hilation. But can we believe a thinking being 
that is in a perpetual progrefs of improvements, 
and travelling on from perfection to perfection* 
after having juft looked abroad into the works of 
its Creator, and made a few difcoveries of his in- 
finite goodnefs, wifdom, and power, mull perifh 
at her firft fetting out, and in the very beginning 
of her enquiries ? 

§.7. True it is, that moft men debafe them- 
felves in fome meafure to an animal life, and have 

• Spectator, Vol. II. No. 3, 

JP 2 very 



212 OF IMMORTALITY. [PART II. 

very little concern about the improvement of their 
faculties. But if thofe people voluntarily degrade 
themfelves, this ought to be no prejudice to fuch 
as chufe to fupport the dignity of their nature ; 
neither does it invalidate what we have been fay- 
ing in regard to the excellency of the foul. For, 
to judge rightly of things, they ought to be 
considered in themfelves, and in their moll: perfect 
ft ate. 

§.8. It is undoubtedly in confequence of the 
natural fenfe of the dignity of our being, and of 
the grandeur of the end we are defigncd for, that 
we naturally extend our views to futurity ; that 
we concern ourfelves about what is to happen after 
our death ; that we feek to perpetuate our name 
and memory, and are not infenliblc to the judg- 
ment of pofterity. Thefe fentiments are far from 
being an illuiion of felf-love or prejudice. The 
deli re. and hope of immortality is an imprefiion we 
receive from nature. And this dellrc is lo very 
reafonable in itfelf, lb ufeful, and i'o clofely con- 
nected with the fyftem of humanity, that we may 
at leaft infer thence a very probable induc- 
tion in favour of a future Irate. How great lb- 
ever the vivacity of this delire may be in iti 
Hill it increafes in proportion as we take m 
care to cultivate our reafon, and as we advance 
in the knowledge of truth and the practice of 
virtue. This fentiment becomes the lure ft prin- 
ciple of noble, generous, and public-fpirited 

actions ; 



PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY". 213 

actions ; and we may affirm, that, were it not for 
this principle, all human views would be low, 
mean, and fordid. 

AU this feems to point out to us clearly, that 
by the inititution of the Creator, there is a kind 
of natural proportion and relation between the 
foul and immortality. For it is not by deceit and 
illufions that the Supreme Wifdom conducts us 
to his propofed end : a principle fo reafonable 
and neceflary ; a principle that cannot but be 
productive of good effects, that raifes man above 
himfelf, and renders him capable of the fublimeft 
things, fuperior to the moil delicate temptations 
and fuch as are mofl dangerous to virtue ; fuch a 
principle, I fay, cannot be chimerical # . 

Thus every thing concurs to perfuade us that 
the foul muft fubfift after death. The know- 
ledge we have of the nature of the mind ; its ex- 
cellence, and faculties always fufceptible of a 
higher degree of perfection ; the dilpofition which 

* Cicero gives an admirable picture of the influence which 
the delire and hope of immortality has had in all ages, to 
excite men to great and noble actions. " Nemo unquam," 
fays he, (< line magna fpe immortalitatis fe pro patria offeret 
ad mortem. Licuit effe otioio Themistoclij licuit Epami- 
nondac; licuit, ne et Vetera et externa quaeram, mihi: fed 
nefcio quo modo inli.eret in mentibus quafi faeculorum 
quoddam augurium futurorum -, idque in maximis ingeniis 
altiflimifque animis existit maxime, et apparet facillime. 
Quo quidem dempto, quis tarn eflet amens, qui femper in 
laborious et periculis viyeret?" Tufcul. Qu?est. lib.l; cap. 15. 
P 3 prompts 



214 OF IMMORTALITY. [pART 11 = 

prompts us to raife ourfelves above the prefent 
life, and to defire immortality ; are all fo many 
natural indications, and the nrongeft presump- 
tions, that fuch indeed is the intention of the 
Creator. 

§. 9. The clearing up of this firft point is of 
great importance in regard to our principal ques- 
tion, and folves already in part the difficulty we 
are examining. For once the foul is fuppofed to 
fubfift after the diflblution of the body, nothing 
can hinder us from faying, that whatever is want- 
ing in the prefent ftate to complete the fanclion 
of natural laws, will be executed hereafter, if it 
be agreeable to the Divine Wifdom. 

We come now from confidering man on the 
phyiical lide, which opens us already a pafTage 
towards finding the object of our prefent purfuit. 
Let us fee now whether by viewing man on the 
moral fide, that is, as a being capable of rule, who 
acls with knowledge and choice, and railing our- 
felves afterwards to God, we cannot difcover new 
reafons and ftill ftronger preemptions of a 
future life, of a ftate of rewards and punifh- 
ments. 

Here we cannot avoid repeating part of thofe 
things which have been already mentioned in this 
work, becaufe we are going to take their entire 
refult ; the truth we intend here to eitablifh be- 
ing, as it were, the conclufion of the whole fyftem. 
It is thus a painter, after having worked feparately 

upon 






PART II.] OF IMMORTAL! 21.5 

upon each part of his piece, thinks it necefiiiry to 
retouch them all together, in order to prodi 
what is called the total effect and harmony. 

§. 10. Man, we have Teen is a rational and free 
agent, who diflinguifhes juftice and honefrv, who 
finds within himielf the principles of conscience, 
who is feniible of his dependance on the Creator, 
and born to fulfil certain duties. His greater!: or- 
nament is reafon and virtue ; and his chief talk 
in life is to advance on that fide, by laying hold 
of all the occafions that offer, to learn, to reflect, 
and to do good. The more he practifes and con- 
firms himielf in fuch laudable occupations, the 
more he accomplices the views of the Creator, 
and proves himfelf worthy of the exiflence he has 
received. lie is fenfible he can be reafonably 
called to an account for his conduct, and he ap- 
proves or condemns himfelf according to his dif- 
ferent manner of acting. 

By all thefe circumftances it evidently appears, 
that man is not confined, like other animals, to 
a mere phyfical economy, but that he is included 
in a moral one, which raifes him much higher, 
and is attended with greater consequences. For 
what appearance or probability is there, that a 
foul which advances daily in wifdom and virtue, 
fhould tend to annihilation, and that God fhould 
think proper to extinguifh this light when moil 
it blazes ? Is it not more rea'bnable to think, 
that the good or bad ufe we have made of our 
P 4 faculties 



216 OF IMMORTALITY. [PART U* 

faculties will be attended with future confe- 
quences ; that we fhall be accountable to him from 
whom we have had them, and that from him we 
fhall receive the juft retribution we have merited? 
Since therefore this judgment of God does not 
difplay itfelf fufficiently in this world, it is natu- 
ral to prefume, that the plan of the Divine Wif~ 
dom, with regard to us, embraces a duration of a 
much greater extent. 

§. 11. Let us afcend from man to God, and 
we fhall be ftill further convinced, that fuch in 
reality is the plan he formed. 

If God is willing (a point we have already 
proved), that man fhould obferve the rules of 
right reafon, in proportion to his faculties and 
the circuniirances he is under ; this muil be a 
ferious and politive will. It is the will of the 
Creator, the Governor of the world, the fovereipi 
Lord of all things. It is therefore a real com- 
mand, which lays us under an obligation of 
obeying. It is moreover the will of a Being fu- 
premely powerful, wife, and good, who propoiing 
always, both with refpecl: to himlelf and his crea- 
tures, the molt excellent ends, cannot fail to 
eftablifh the means which, in the order of reafon, 
and purfuant to the nature ajid flate of things, 
are neceflary for the execution of his defigns. 
No one can reafonably conteft thefe principles ; 
but let us fee what confequences may be drawn 
from them* 

1. If 



PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY". 217 

1. If it actually became the Divine Wifdom to 
give laws to man, this fame wifdom requires that 
thefe laws mould be accompanied with neceffary 
motives to determine rational and free agents to 
conform thereto in all cafes. Otherwife wc 
fhould be obliged to fay, either that God does 
not really and ferioufly defire the obfervance 
of the laws he has given, or that he wants power 
or wifdom to procure it. 

1. If through an effecl: of his goodnefs, he 
has not thought proper to let men live at ran- 
dom, or to abandon them to the capricioufnefs 
of their pailions ; if he has given them a- torch to 
light them ; this fame goodnefs mud undoubt- 
edly induce him to annex a perfect and durable 
happinefs to the good ufe that every man makes 
of this light. 

3. Reafon informs us afterwards, that an all* 
powerful, all-wife, and all-bountiful Being is in* 
finitely fond of order ; that thefe perfections 
make him defire that this order fhould reign 
among his intelligent and free creatures, and that 
it was for this very reafon he fubjecled them to 
laws. The fame reafons that induced, him to efta* 
blifh a moral order, engage him likewife to pro* 
cure their obfervance. It muft be therefore his 
fatisfaclion and glory, to render all men fenfible 
of the difference he makes between thofe who 
difturb, and thofe who conform to order. He 
cannot be indifferent in this refpeel : on the con- 
trary, 






£1S OF IMMORTALITY. [PART II. 

trary, he is determined, by the love he has for 
himfelf and his perfections, to inveft his com- 
mands with all the efficacy neceffary to render his 
authority refpecled : This imports an eitabliuV 
ment of future rewards and punifhments ; either 
to keep man within rule, as much as pof- 
fible, in the prefent ftate, by the potent mo- 
tives of hope and fear ; or to give afterwards an 
execution worthy of his jufrice and wifdom to his 
plan, by reducing every thing to the primitive 
order he has eftablifhed. 

4. The fame principle carries us yet further. 
For if God is infinitely fond of the order he has 
eftablifhed in the moral world, he cannot but ap- 
prove of thefe, who with a fincere and conftant 
attachment to this order, endeavour to pleafe him 
by concurring in the accomplifhment of his views ; 
and he cannot but disapprove of iuch as obferve 
an oppofite conduct : for the former are, as it 
were, his friends, and the latter declare them- 
felves his enemies. But the approbation of God 
imports his protection, benevolence, and love ; 
whereas his difapprobation cannot but be attended 
with quite contrary effects. If fo, how can any 
one imagine, that God's friends and enemies will 
be confounded, and no difference made between 
them ? Is it not much more confonant to reafon 
to think, that the' Divine Juftice will manifeft at 
length, fome way or other, the extreme difference 
he places between virtue and vice, by rendering 

finally 



PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY. 219 

finally and perfectly happy thofe, who by a fub- 
miffion to his will are become the objects of his 
benevolence ; and, on the contrary, by making 
the wicked feel a juft feverity ? 

§. 12. This is what our cleared notions of the 
perfedtions of the lupreme Being induce us to 
judge concerning his views, and the plan he has 
formed. Were not virtue to meet furely and ine- 
vitably with a final recompence, and vice with a 
final punifhment, and this in a general and com- 
plete manner, exactly proportioned to the degree 
of merit or demerit of each perfon ; the plan of 
natural laws would never anfwer our expectation 
from a fupreme legiftator, whofe preicience, wif- 
dom, power, and goodnefs, are without bounds. 
This would be leaving the laws divefted of their 
principal force, and reducing them to the quality 
of fimple counfels ; it would be fubverting, in 
fine, the fundamental part of the fyftem of intelli- 
gent creatures, namely, that of being induced to 
make a reasonable ufe of their faculties, with a view 
and expectation of happinefs. In fhort, the moral 
fyftem would fall into a Hate of imperfection, 
which could be reconciled neither with the nature 
of man, nor with the jftate of fociety, nor with the 
moral perfections of God. It is otherwife, when 
we acknowledge a future life. The moral fyftern 
is thereby fupported, connected, and rimmed, fo 
as to leave nothing wanting to render it complete : 
It is then a plan really worthy of God, and ufeful 

to 



% 

■229 ©F IMMORTALITY, [f ART II. 

to man. God does all he ought to do with free 
and rational creatures, to induce them to behave 
as they fhould ; the laws of nature are thus efta- 
blifhed on the moft folid foundations ; and no- 
thing is wanting to bind men by fuch motives as 
are moft proper to make an imprefTion. 

Wherefore if this plan is without companfon, 
the moft beautiful and the beft ; if it be like 
the moft worthy of God, and the moft connected 
with what we know of the nature, wants, and 
ftate of man ; how can any one doubt of its be- 
ing that which the Divine Wifdcm has actually 
chofen ? 

(\. 13. I acknowledge, indeed, that could we 
find in the prefent lile a lufficient fanction of the 
laws of nature, in the meafure and plenitude 
above mentioned, we fhould have no right to prefs 
this argument ; for nothing could oblige us to 
ieareh into futurity for an entire unravelling of the 
Divine plan. But, though, by the nature of things, 
and even by the various eftablifhments of man, 
virtue has already its reward, and vice its punifh- 
ment ; yet this excellent and juft order is accom- 
plished only in part, and we find a great 
number of exceptions to this rule in hiftory, 
and the experience of human life. Hence ariies a 
very puzzling objection againft the authority of 
natural laws. But as foon as mention is made ot 
another life, the difficulty difappears ; every tiling 

is 



PART IJ.^ OF IMMORTALITY. 221 

is cleared up and fet to rights ; the fyftem appears 
connected, finifhed, and iuppotted ; the Divine 
Wifdoru is justified : we find all the neceflaiy 
fupplements and compenfations to redrefs the 
prefent irregularities ; virtue acquires a firm and 
unfhaken prop, by furnifhing the honeft man with 
a motive capable to fupport him in the moft dan- 
gerous difficulties, and to render him triumphant 
over the moft delicate temptations. 

Were this only a fimple conjecture, it might 
be considered rather as a convenient than folid 
fuppofition. But we have feen that it is founded 
alfo on the nature and excellence of the foul ; on 
the inftinct that inclines us to raife ourfelves above 
the prefent life ; and on the nature of man confi- 
dered on the moral fide, as a creature accountable 
for his actions, and obliged to conform to a cer- 
tain rule. When, befldes all this, we behold 
that the fame opinion ferves to fupport, and per- 
fectly crowns the whole fyftem of natural laws, it 
mull be allowed to be no lefs probable than it is 
beautiful and engaging. 

§. 14. Hence this opinion has been re- 
ceived more or lefs at all times, and by all na- 
tions, according as reafon has been more or lefs 
cultivated, or as people have enquired clofer into 
the origin of things. It would be an eafy matter 
to alledge divers hiftorical proofs, and to produce 
alfo feveral beautiful pafTages of philolbphers, in 
order to fhew, that the reafbns which ft rike us, made 



222 G* IMMORTALITY. [PART II* 

the like impreffions on the wifeft of the Pagans, 
But we (hall be fatisfied with obferving, that 
thefe teftimonies, which have been collected by- 
other writers, are not indifferent on this fubjecl: : 
becaufe this mews, either the veftiges of a primi- 
tive tradition, or the voice of reafon and nature, 
or both ; which adds a conliderable weight to our 
arguments. 



CHAPTER XX. 



Continuation of the Subject of Immortality. 

V' *• W E have feen how far our natural lights 
are capable of conducting us with regard to the 
important queftion of the immortality of the foul, 
and a future ftate of rewards and punifhments. 
Each of the proofs we have alledged. has, without 
doubt, its particular force ; but coming up to the 
affiftance of one another, and acquiring a greater 
ftrength by their union, they are certainly capa- 
ble of making an impreflion on every attentive and 

unprejudiced mind, and ought to appear liifficient 

to 



PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY, 223 

to eflablilli the authority and fandlion of natural 
laws in as full an extent as we deli re. 

^. 2. If any one fhould lay, that all our reafon- 
ings on this fubj eel are only probabilities and con- 
jectures, and are properly reducible to a plaufible 
reafon or fitnefs, which leaves the thing (till at a 
great diflance from demonftration ; I fhall agree, 
if he pleafes, that we have not here a complete 
evidence, yet the probability, methinks, is fo 
very flrong, and the fitnefs fo great, and fo well 
eftablifhed, that this is fufficient to make it pre- 
vail over the contrary opinion, and confequently 
to determine us. 

For we fhould be ftrangely embarrafTed, if in 
every quefiion that arifes, we fhould refufe to be 
determined by any thing but a demonstrative ar- 
gument. Moll commonly we are obliged to be 
latisfied with an afYemblage of probabilities, which, 
united and carried to a certain point, very feldom 
deceive us, and ought to fupply the place of evi- 
dence in fubjecls that are moil fufceptible thereof. 
It is thus that in natural philofophy, in phylic, 
criticifm, hiftory, politics, commerce, and gene- 
rally in all the affairs of life, a prudent man is de- 
termined by a concurrence of reafons, which, 
every thing confidered, he judges fuperior to the 
oppofite arguments. 

§.3. In order to render the fbrength of this 
kind of proof more eafy to be underrl ood, it will 
not be amifs to explain here at firft what we mean 

by 



224 O* IMMORTALITY. [l>AKT II, 

- by a plaitjible reafon or fitnefs ; to enquire after- 
wards into the general principle on which this 
fort of reafoning is founded ; and to fee, in parti- 
cular, what conftitutes its force when applied to 
the law of nature. This will be the right way to 
know thejuft value of our proofs, and what weight 
they ought to have in our determinations. 

A plaufble reafon or fitnefs is that which is 
drawn from the neceffity of admitting a thing 
as certain, for the perfection of a fyflem in other 
refpects folid, ufeful, and well connected ; but 
which would be defective without this point ; 
though there is no reafon to fuppofe that it has 
any effential defect. For example : upon be- 
holding a great and magnificent palace, we re- 
mark an admirable fymmetry and proportion ; 
where all the rules of art, which form the iblidity, 
convenience, and beauty of a building, are ftrictly 
obferved. In fhort, all that we fee of the build- 
ing denotes an able architect. May it not there- 
fore be reafonably fuppoied, that the foundation 
which we do not fee is equally folid and propor- 
tioned to the great mat's it bears ? Can it be ima- 
gined that the architect's ability and knowledge 
ihould have foriaken him in \o important a point ? 
In order to form fuch a luppofition, we fhould 
have certain proofs of this deficiency, or have f< 
that in fact the foundation is imperfect : other- 
wife we could not prefume fo improbable a thing. 
Who is it, that on a mere metaphytical poffibility 

of 



PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY. 225 

of the architect's having neglected to lay the 
foundation, would venture to wager that the 
thing is really fo ? 

§.4. Such is the nature of fitnefs. The general 
foundation of this manner of reafoning is, that we 
muft not confider only what is pofTible, but what 
is probable ; and that a truth of itfelf very little 
known, acquires a probability by its natural con- 
nection with other truths that are better known. 
Thus natural philofophers do not queftion but 
that they have difcovered the truth, when an hypo- 
thecs happily explains all the phenomena; and 
an event very little known in hiflory, appears no 
longer doubtful, when we fee it ferves for a key 
and bails to many other indubitable events. It is 
on this principle, in a great meafure, that moral 
certainty is founded, which is fo much ufed in 
moil fciences, as well as in the conduct of life, 
and in things of the greateft importance to indivi- 
duals, families, and to the whole of fociety. 

§. 5. But if this manner of judging and reafon- 
ing takes place fo frequently in human affairs, and 
, is in general founded on fo folid a principle; it is 
ftill much furer when we are to reaion on the works 
of God, to difcover his plan, and to judge of his 
views and defigns. For the whole univerfe, with 
the feveral fyftems that compofe it, and particu- 
larly the fyftem of man and fociety, are the work 
of a fupreme underftanding. Nothing has been 
done by chance ; nothing depends on a blind, ca- 

Q pricious 



226 OF IMMORTALITY. [PARTII. 

pricious, or impotent caufe ; every thing has been 
calculated and meafured with a profound wifdom. 
Here therefore, more than any where elfe, we 
have a right to judge, that fo powerful and lb 
w r ife an author, has omitted nothing neceiTary for 
the perfection of his plan ; and that conliftent 
with himfelf he has fitted it with all the eifential 
parts, for the deiign he propofed. If we ought 
to prefume reafonably luch a care in an able ar- 
chitect., who is nothing more than a man fubjecT 
to error ; how much more ought we to prefume 
it in a being of fupreme underftanding ? 

§. 6. What we have been now faying, fhews 
that this fitnefs is not always of the fame weight, 
but may be more or lefs ftrong, in proportion to 
the greater or lefs neceflity on which it is efta- 
blifhed. And to lay down rules on this fubject, 
we may fay in general, 1. That the more we 
know the views and deiigns of the author ; '2. The 
more we are allured of his wifdom and power ; 

3. The more this power and wildom are perfect; 

4. The more coniiderable are the inconveniences 
that refult from the oppofite fyftem ; the more they 
border upon the abiurd ; and the more preiling 
we find the coniequences drawn from this fort of 
considerations. For then we have nothing to fet 
in oppofition to them by way of counterbalance ; 
and confequently it is on that fide we are deter- 
mined by right reafon- 

v>. ;. Thefe 



PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY. 227 

§. 7. Thefe principles are of themfelves appli- 
cable to our fubjec~t, and this in fo jliir aad com- 
plete a manner, that the realon drawn from pro- 
bability or fitnefs cannot be carried any farther* 
After what has been faid in the preceding chapters* 
it would be entering into ufelefs repetitions, to at- 
tempt to prove here all the particulars : the thing 
fufficiently proves itfelf. Let us be fatisfied with 
obferving, that the fitnefs in favour of the fanction 
of natural laws, is fo much the ilronger and more 
preffing, as the contrary opinion throws into the 
fyftem of humanity an obfeurity and confufion, 
which borders very much upon the abfurd, if it 
does not come quite up to it. The plan of the 
Divine Wifdom becomes in refpecl: to us an info- 
luble enigma ; we are no longer able to account 
for any thing ; and we cannot tell why fo necef- 
fary a thing fhould be wanting in a plan fo beau- 
tiful in other refpects, fo ufeful, and fo perfectly 
connected. 

§.8. Let us draw a comparifon between the 
two fyftems, to fee which is moft conformable 
to order, moft fuitable to the nature and ftate of 
man, and, in fhort, moil reafonable and worthy 
of God. 

Suppofe, on one fide, that the. Creator pro- 
pofed the perfection and felicity of his creatures, 
and in particular the good of man and fociety. 
That for this purpofe, having inverted man with, 
underftanding and liberty, and rendered him ca- 

Q 2 pabte 



228 OF IMMORTALITY. [PART II. 

pable of knowing his end, of difcovering and fol- 
lowing the road that can alone conduct him to it: 
he lays him under a Uriel obligation of walking 
constantly in this road, and of never loling fight 
of the torch of reafon, which ought always to 
enlighten his fteps. That in order to guide him 
better, he has given him all the fenfes and prin- 
ciples neceffary to ferve him as a rule. That this 
direction, and thefe principles, coming from a 
powerful, wife, and good fuperior, have all the 
characters of a real law. That this law carries 
already along with it, even in this life, its reward 
and punifhment ; but that this firft fanction being 
inefficient, God, in order to give to a plan fo 
worthy of his wildom and goodnels, its full per- 
fection, and to furnifh men in all pofiiblc cafes 
with neceffary motives and helps, has moreover 
eftablifhed a proper Sanction in refpect to natural 
laws, which will be manifested in a future life : 
and that, attentive to the conduct of man, he pro- 
poies to make him give an account of his actions, 
to recompence virtue, and to punilh vice, by a 
retribution exactly proportioned to the merit or 
demerit of each perfon. 

Let us let now- in oppoiition to this fir ft iyftem 
the other, which iiippoies that every thing is 
limited, in refpect. to man, to the prefent life, and 
that he has nothing to hope or fear beyond this 
term : that God after having created man and in- 
ftitutcd Society, concerns himfelf no more about 

them : 



PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY. ?C9 

them : that after giving us a power of difcerning 
good and evil by the help of reafon, he takes no 
manner of notice of the life we make thereof, but 
leaves us in iuch a manner to ourlclves, that we 
are absolutely at liberty to do as we pleafe : that 
Ave fhall have no account to give our Creator, and 
that notwithstanding the unequal and irregular 
diftribution of the goods and evils of this life, 
notwithstanding the diforders caufed by the malice 
or injuliice of man, we have no redrefs or com- 
penfation ever to expect from God. 

§. 9. Can any one fay that this laft fyltem is 
comparable to the firft ? Does it fet the divine 
perfections in fo great a light ? Is it as worthy of 
the Divine wifdom, bounty, and juftice ? Is it as 
proper to ftem the torrent of vice and to fupport 
virtue, in delicate and dangerous conjunctures ? 
Does it render the ftmcture of fociety as folid, 
and inveft the laws of nature with fuch an au- 
thority as the glory of the fupreme Legiflator and 
the good of humanity require ? Were we to 
chufe between two focieties, one of which ad- 
mitted the firft fyftem, while the other acknow- 
ledged only the fecond, is there a prudent man 
but would highly prefer to live in the former of 
thofe focieties ? 

There is, certainly, no comparifon between 

thefe two fyftems, in refpect to beauty and fitnefs: 

the firft is a work of the moft perfect reafon ; the 

icoond is defective, and provides no manner of 

Q 3 remedy 



230 OF IMMORTALITY. [pART II. 

remedy againft a great many diforders. Now 
even this alone points out fufficiently on what fide 
the truth lies ; becaufe the bufinefs is to judge 
and reafon of the deligns and works of God, who 
does every thing with infinite wiidom. 

§. 10. Let no one fay, that, limited as we are, it 
is temerity to decide after this manner ; and that 
we have too imperfect ideas of the divine nature 
and perfections, to be able to judge of his plan 
and defigns with any certainty. This reflexion, 
which is in fome meaiure true, and in fome cafes 
juft, proves too much, if applied to our fubject, 
and confeqiuntiy has no weight. Let us but re- 
flect a little, and we ihall find that this thought 
leads us infenfibly to a kind of pynrhonifm, which 
would be the fubverfion of human life, and of all 
focial economy. For in fine, there is no medium; 
we mult chufe one of the two fyltenis above ex- 
plained. To reject: the firft is admitting the 
iecond with all its inconveniencies. This remark 
is of fome importance, and alone is almoft fufri- 
cient to fhew us the force of fitnefs in this cafe ; 
becaufe not to acknowledge the folidity of this 
reaion, is to Jay one's felf under a neceffity of re- 
ceiving a defective fyftem ; a fyftem loaded with 
inconveniences, and of which confequences are 
very far from being realbnable. 

$, 1 l f Such is the nature and force of the iitnefs, 
on which the proofs of the fanction of natural 
laws are eftabliihed. All that remains now, is to 

fee 



PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY. 231 

fee what impreflion thefe proofs united, ought to 
have over our minds, and wiiat influences they 
fhould have over our conduct. This is the 
capital point in which the whole ought to end. 

1. In the firft place, I obierve,that, though all 
that can be faid in favour of the fanction of na- 
tural laws, were ftill to leave the queftion un- 
decided ; yet it would be always reafonable even 
in this very uncertainty to act, as if it had been 
determined in the affirmative, For it is evidently 
the fafefl: fide, namely, that in which there is lefs 
at all events to lofe and more to gain. Let us 
ftate the thing as dubious. If there be a future 
flate, it is not only an error not to believe it, but 
likewife a dangerous irregularity to act as if there 
were no fuch thing : an error of this kind is at- 
tended with pernicious confequences ; whereas if 
there is no fuch thing, the miftake in believing 
it, produces in general none but good effects ; it 
is not fubject to any inconveniences hereafter, nor 
does it, generally fpeaking, expofe us to any great 
difficulties for the time prefent. Be it therefore 
as it will, and let the cafe be ever fo unfavour- 
able to natural laws, a prudent man will never 
hefitate which fide he is to embrace, whether the 
obfervance, or the violation of thofe laws ; virtue 
will certainly have the preference of vice. 

2. But if this fide of the quefiion is the moil: 
prudent and eligible, even under a fuppofition of 
doubt and uncertainty, how much more will it be 

Q4 fo 



232 OF IMMORTALITY. [PART II, 

fo, if we acknowledge, as we cannot avoid, that 
this opinion is at leaft more probable than the 
other ? A firfl degree of verisimilitude, or a 
limple though flight probability, becomes a rea- 
fonable motive of derermination, in refpect to 
every man that calculates and reflects. And if it 
be prudent to conduct ourfelves by this principle 
in the ordinary affairs of life, does prudence 
permit us to deviate from this very road in the 
moil important affairs, fuch as effentially intereft 
our felicity ? 

3. But in fine, if proceeding ftill further, and 
reducing the thing to its true point, it is agreed 
that we have here actually, if not a ft rid: demon- 
stration of a future life, at leaft a probability 
founded on fa many reasonable preemptions, and 
fo great a fitnefs as borders very near upon cer- 
tainty ; it is ftill more evident, that in the pre lent 
ftate of things, we ought to a6l on this footing, 
and are not reafonably allowed to form any other 
rule of conduct. 

§. 12. Nothing, indeed, is more worthy of a 
rational being, than to feek evidence in every 
thing, and to be determined only by clear and 
certain principles. But as all fubjecls are not 
fufceptible thereof, and yet we are obliged to de- 
termine ; where lhould we be, if we were always 
to wait for a rigorous demon it ration ? In failure 
of the higheft degree of certainty, we embrace 
the next to it; and a great probability be- 
come 



PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY. 233 

comes a fufficient rcafon of acting, when there is 
none of an equal weight to oppofc it. If this fide 
of the queliion be not in itielf evidently certain, 
it is at lea ft an evident and certain rule, that in 
the ppefent flare of things, it ought to have the 
preference. 

This is a neceffary confequence of our nature 
and flate. As we have only limited lights, and 
yet are under a neceffity of determining and act- 
ing ; were it requifite for this purpofe to have a 
complete certainty, and were w r e to refufe to ac- 
cept of probability as a principle of determination ; 
we fhould be either obliged to determine in fa- 
vour of the leaft probable fide, and contrary to 
verifimilitude, (which no body, methinks, will 
attempt to maintain,) or we fhould be forced to 
fpend our days in dubioufnefs and uncertainty, 
to fluctuate continually in a ftate of irrefolution, 
and to remain always in fufpenfe, without acting, 
■without refolving upon any thing, or without 
having any fixed rule of conduct ; which would 
be a total fubverlion of the fyftem of hu- 
manity. 

§.13. But if it be reafonable in general to admit 
of fitnefs and probability as the rule of conduct, 
for want of evidence ; this rule becomes flill more 
neceffary and juft, in particular cafes, in which, 
as has been already obferved, a perfon runs no 
rifk in following it. When there is nothing to 
lofe, if we are miftaken, and a great deal to win, 

if 



234 OF IMMORTALITY. [l>ART II, 

if we are not; what can we defire more to deter- 
mine us reafonably ? Efpecially when the oppolite 
iide expofes you, on the contrary, to very great 
danger, in cafe of error, and affords you no man- 
ner of advantage, fuppoftng you are right. Under 
tliefe circumftances there is no room for balancing 
the choice ; reafon requires us to embrace the 
fafeft iide ; it lays us under an obligation of fo do- 
ing ; and this obligation is fo much the ftronger, 
as it is produced by a concurrence of reafons to 
which nothing can be oppofed that is capable of 
weakening them. 

In fhorr if it be reafonable to embrace this fide, 
even in cafe of an entire uncertainty, it is ftill 
more lo when there is fome probability in its fa- 
vour ; it becomes neceflary if thefe probabilities 
are cogent and numerous ; and in fine, the ne- 
cctfity ftill increafes, if at all events this is the 
fafeft and mod advantageous party. 

§. 14. Again. This internal and primitive ob- 
ligation is confirmed by the Divine Will itfelf, 
and is confequently rendered as ftrong as pofU- 
ble. In fact, this manner of judging and acting 
being, as we have feen, in confequence of our 
constitution, fuch as the Creator has formed it ; 
this alone is a certain proof, that it is the will of 
God we fhould be directed by thefe principles, 
and conlider it as a point of duty. For whatever is 
in the nature of man, whatever is a confequence 
of his original conftitution and ftate, acquaints us 

clearly 



PART II.] OP IMMORTALITY. 235 

clearly and diftinetly with the will of the Crea- 
tor, witli the life he expects we fhould make of 
our faculties, and the obligations to which he has 
thought proper to fubject us. This is a point 
that merits great attention. For if we may 
affirm, without fear of miftake, that God is ac- 
tually willing that man fhould conduct himfelf 
in this life on the foundation of the belief of a 
future ftate, and as having every thing to hope 
or to fear on his fide, according as he has 
done well or ill ; does not there arife thence a 
more than probable proof of the reality of this 
ftate, and of the certainty of rewards and punifh- 
ments ? Otherwife we fhould be obliged to fay, 
that God himfelf deceives us, becaufe this error 
was neceflary for the execution of his defigns, be- 
ing an eflential principle to the plan he had 
formed in refpect to man and fociety. But to 
fpeak after this manner of the molt perfect Being, 
of a Being, whofe power, wifdom, and good- 
nefs, know no bounds, would be ufing a lan- 
guage as abfurd as indecent. For this very 
reafon that this article of belief is neceflary to 
man, and enters into the views of the Creator, it 
cannot be an error. Whatever he fets before us 
as a duty, or as a reafonable principle of conduct, 
muft be certainly true. 

§.15. Thus every thing concurs to eftablifh 
the authority of natural laws. 1 . The approba- 
tion 



236 6? IMNfORTALITV. [PARTII* 

tion they receive from reafon. 2. The exprefs 
command of God. 3. The real advantages 
which their obfervance procures us in this world ; 
and, in fine, the great hopes and juft fears we 
ought to have in reipect to futurity, according a3 
we have obierved or defpiled thole laws. Thus 
it is that God binds us to the practice of virtue 
by flich Strong and numerous ties, that every 
man who confults and liftens to reaibn, rinds him- 
felf under an indifpenfable obligation of invariably 
directing his conduct: by it. 

$. lo. ISorae perhaps will object, that we have 
been too diffufive i: fancrion of na- 

tural laws. True it is, that moil of thofe who 
have written concerning the law of nature, are 
more coocife on this article, and PurTendorf him- 
felf does not fay much about it. This author, 
without absolutely excluding only the consideration 
of a future life from this fcience, teems neverthe- 
lets to confine the law of nature within the 
bounds of the prelent life, as tending only to 
render us ibciable. And yet he acknowledges 
that man is naturally deli ro us of immortality, and 
that this has induced heathens to believe the foul 
immortal ; that this belief is likewife authorifed 
by an ancient tradition concerning the goddefs of 
revenge ; to which he adds, that, in fact, it is very 
probable God will punilh the violation of die laws 
of nature ; but that there is lull a great obfeuriry 

in 



PART II] OP IMMORTALITY. 937 

in this refpect, and nothing but revelation can put 
the thing out of doubt. 

But were it even true, that reafon affords us 
nothing but probabilities on this queflion, yet 
we fflttft not exclude from the law of nature all 
confederations of a future ftate ; efpecially if thefe 
probabilities are fo very great, as to border upon 
certainty. This article enters neceffarily into the 
fyftem of this fcience, and forms thereof a part fo 
much the more effcntial, that were it not for this, 
the authority of natural laws would be weakened, 
as we have already fhewn ; and it would be diffi- 
cult (to fay nothing more) to eftablifh on any 
folid grounds feveral important duties, which 
oblige us to facrifice our greater!: advantages to the 
good of fociety, or to the fupport of equity and 
juftice. NecerTary therefore it was, to examine 
with fome care, how far our natural light may 
lead us in refpect to this queflion, and to fhew the 
force of the proofs that our reafon affords us, 
and the influence thofe proofs ought to have over 
ourconducl. 

True it is, as we have already obferved, that the 
beft way to know in this refpecl the will of God, 
would be an expreis declaration on his part. But 
if reafoning, as mere philoibphers, we have not 
been able to make ufe of fo decifive a proof, no- 
thing can hinder us, as Chriftian philofophers, to 
avail ourfelves of the advantage we have from re- 
velation, 



238 OF IMMORTALITY. [PART It, 

velation, in order to ftrengthen our conjectures. 
Nothing, indeed, can be a better argument that 
we have reafoned and conjectured right, than the 
poiitive declaration of God on this important 
point. For fince, it appears by fact that God is 
willing to recompenfe \ irtue, and to punifh vice 
in another life, it is no lunger poflible to doubt of 
-what we have been laying, namely, that this is ex- 
tremely conformable to his wifdom, goodnefs, 
and juftice. The proofs we have drawn from the 
nature of man, from God's defigns in his favour, 
from the wildom and equity with which he go- 
verns the world, and from the prefent ftate of 
things, are not a work of the imagination, or an 
illufion of felf-love ; no, they are reflections 
dictated by right reafon : and when revelation 
comes up to their afiiftance, it fets then in full 
evidence what already had been rendered probable 
by the iole light of nature. 

It is to us a great pleafure to fee that the princi- 
ples we have laid down, are exactly thole that the 
Chriftian religion adopts for its bafis, and on 
which the whole ltructure of religion and morality 
is railed. If on one fide this remark ferves to con- 
firm us in thefe principles, by alluring us that we 
have hit upon the true fyitem of nature ; on the 
other, it ought to dilpofe us to have an infinite 
elleem for a revelation which perfectly confirms 
the law of nature, and converts moral philofophy 

into 



PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY. 239 

into a religious and popular doctrine ; a doctrine 
founded on facts, and in which the authority and 
promifes of God manifeftly intervene in the fitteft 
manner to make an impreiiion upon man. This 
happy agreement between natural and revealed 
light, is equally honourable to both. 






END OP PART II. 



ELEMENTS 



OF 



SELF-KNOWLEDGE. 



PART III. 
AN ENQUIRY 

INTO THE 

GENUINE NATURE OF THE PASSIONS. 



the Paffions all 

Have burfl: their bounds ; and Reafon, half extincl:, 

Or impotent, or elfe approving, fees 

The foul diforder. Thomson. 



Introductory Obfervations, with a Table of the 
PaJJions analyzed. 

.H.AVING examined the anatomical fyftem of 
the human frame, and taken a view of the mental 
faculties, I have now to direct the attention of 
my Readers to an enquiry into the genuine nature 
of the paffions, thofe grand fources of thehappinfs 
and of the mifery of mankind. 

For promoting and inciting us to the perform- 
ance of our duties and to the due enjoyment of 
our being, all the paflions and affeclions of the 
human mind were certainly defigned by the Author 

R of 



242 INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS, [pARTIIl. 

of nature, and were necefTary for the end for 
which he intended them. This end he has given 
us a capacity, if we will be at the pains to exercife 
it, to difcover, and, by our reafon, if we 
make a right ufe of it, we may go- 
vern and direct every one of them to its 
true and proper end. As all the paffions 
and affections of the human mind were planted 
there by him who gave it a being, we cannot but 
fuppofe that every one of them was ordained for 
a wife and good end ; confequently we mull con- 
clude, that they are all in themfelves good and 
ufeful, and never can have a bad effect if proper- 
ly applied, and duly kept under the government 
X)f our reafon according to his appointment. By 
the term Paffion, however, we often mean not 
properly any paffion itfelf, but the violence, ex- 
travagance, and depravation of the paffion ; and to 
this violence, extravagance, or depravation of the 
paffion a particular and diftinct name having been 
given by mankind, we are led by it to fuppofe it 
to be a particular, diftinct, and wicked pallion, 
which the minds of lome men have been indued 
with by nature, whence we often leek to excuie 
the irregularity and rafhnefs of our conduct to 
ouriclvcs as well as to others. Thus cruelty, for 
example, is often thought to be a paffion with 
which the minds of fome men are indued by Na- 
ture ; whereas cruelty is not a genuine pallion, 
but only an unbridled violence or wrong dire ct ion 
oflbme natural paffion or affection, in itfelf good 



*ART III.] INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS. 243 

and ufeful, as we fhall fee in the courfe of our 
enquiry. So, whenever we meet with a name or 
term, which feems to iignify a paffion that can 
ferve for no good purpofe, we may be affiired, 
and on ftrict examination we fhall difcover, that it 
does not really mean any genuine paffion, but a 
wrong direction, or extravagant ftretch of a paf- 
fion. It will not be amifs to obferve here that all 
the paffions and affections of the human mind 
may be trained to fubjedlion by a conftant check, 
or flrengthened and rendered almoft ungovernable 
by continued indulgence : therefore Reafon, like a 
good centinelj fhould be always awake and alert 
upon his poft. 

The paffions then are the fprings of virtue, and 
they are in their nature and origin good, and in- 
tended for the benefit of mankind ; but itis the 
channels into which they diverge that render them 
pernicious, and form them alfo into the fprings 
of vice. Even envy and avarice, the mod odious 
of our emotions, are to be traced up to untainted 
fources ; the former in general, ariling from the 
defire of excellence, and the latter from the wifli 
of eftimation. Secure the ftream where it frrft 
threatens deviation, teach it to flow within the 
bounds originally prefefibed by nature, it will 
then run with a clear and fmooth current, and 
bear along with it both pleafure and virtue. 

Paffion may be defined a movement of the mind 
occafioned by fome ftrong impreffion made upon 
It. either by external objects through the fenies, 

R 2 or 



244 ANALYSIS OF [PART III. 

or by the power of imagination. Let us confider 
the paffions in the following manner : nrft, the 
fource of each ; fecondly, its natural branches ; 
and, thirdly, its deviations, by which means we 
fhall be able to diftinguifh at once the genuine 
emotions of human nature from thofe that have 
been the confequence of its depravity. For the 
fake of precifion I will treat of them alphabetically 
and ace ordng to the following fketch, or 

ANALYSIS OF THE PASSIONS. 



SOURCES, 



AMBITION. 



ANGER. 



{Indignation. 
\Refentment. 



AVERSION. / nm „ 



VARIETIES. DEVIATIONS, 

fDefire of Paver, f A varice . 
|_ Dejire of Fame. \ Envy. 

"Retaliation. 

Revenge. 

Rage. 

Fury. 
\ Fretfulnefs. 

Morofenefs. 

Surlynefs, 

Haiti nefs. 

Sullennefs. 

Hatred. 

Malevolence. 

Rancour. 

Spite. 

I 



! Mi fan th ropy 



CURIOSITY 



PART III.] 

SOURCES. 
CURIOSITY. 



FEAR. 



HOPE. 



JOY, 



LOVE. 



SHAME, 



THE PASSIONS. 
VARIETIES. DEVIATIONS. 

Defire of Iufur- f Futile Curiofity. 
ma fun. \ Di (honourable 

L Curiofity. 

f Timidi ty. Cowardice . 

\ Terror. 
| Horror. 

Rational Hope. Chimerical Hope. 

| Exultation. 
j Falfe fpiritSi 
*< fictitioufly 
procured. 

I Malignant Joy. 



J Chearfulnefs. 
\Mirth. 



f Self Love. 

Sexual Love. 

Storge. 

EJleem. 

FriendJJiip. 

Patriotifm. 

Philanthropy. 

Benevolence. 

Charity. 

Gratitude. 
.Piety. 

^Bajlifuhiefs. 

I Diffidence. 

R3 



Pride. 

Arrogance. 

Haughtinefs. 

Vain-glory. 

Vanity. 

Jealoufy. 



Shame of doing 
right. 

SORROW, 



246 



AMBITION 



SORROW, or {Melancholy. 
GRIEF. 4 Contrition. 

[Remorfe. 



SYMPATHY. 



WONDER. 



[Pity. 

\ Terror. 



< 



f 'Admiration. 



\AJioniJJiment. 



[part III 
Defpair. 



Vicious Sym- 
pathy. 



CHAPTER I. 



AMBITION. 
Sect. I. Its Varieties and Deviations. 

A HIS paffion is the deflre of great things ; or 
rather of thofe things which tranfeend our prefent 
ftate or attainments. It is an efTential quality in 
man to afpire ; it marks the fuperiority of his 
lpirit above the reft of animals ; and, in no flight 
degree, indicates his immortality. Afpire, my 
children ! but let your ambition be fixed on thofe 
objects that legalize the paffion. Whatever tends 
to the exaltation of your nature is the legal object 
of Ambition. Caft your eyes to the fummits of 
intellect, and virtue ; and ftrain every faculty to 
accomplifh the afcent. 

The 



TART III.'] AMBITION. 247 

The paflion flows regularly, and purely, while 
it runs towards real greatnets ; it deviates into a 
turbid ftream when attracted by imaginary gran- 
deur. How far the deiire of power, of popularity, 
of fame, of wealth, are deviations, can only be 
known from actions ; they are not neceflarily 
corrupt. The ambition of Cicero induced him to 
be the fupport and the father of his country ; that 
of Caefar impelled him to its dcftruction. Per- 
fonal aggrandizement, with no ulterior view to 
the will of God, cannot be the end of a laudable 
paflion; but every wifh to rife, fhould be ac- 
companied with the deiire of moral improvement, 
and extended utility. The tendency of native 
Ambition is the melioration of the foul, which is 
true greatnefs ; and every ftep we take we advance 
nearer to the Father of all grandeur. The ten- 
dency of falfe Ambition, is the depravation of the 
foul : power is fought, for the gratification of 
vice ; and no means are rejected, however bale or 
horrid. 

Sect. II. The Dcjire of Power. 

IN every fituation of life the desire of power 
is viiible. To be able to undertake, and, to do 
well, what is undertaken, is a laudable Ambi- 
tion. It is from this paflion, generally aflbciated 
with the hope of profit, that every man ftrives to 
be excellent in his calling. But the deiire of 

R 4 power, 



24S AMBITION. [PART III. 

power, which has obtained a peculiar title to the 
name of Ambition, is that which has political 
greatnefs in view. To be a main prop in fup- 
porting, and an active inftrument in conducting 
a State, is an eminence well worthy this paflion. 
Without this, fociety would be diflblved, or left 
to the random influences of the other paffions. 
The f r atefman is an honourable character, and 
Hands foremoit among the benefactors of mankind ; 
bur it is a character which requires, more than any 
other, the moil tranfcendent talents accompanied 
with the greater!: virtues. The military cha^cter 
is connected with the State, and the ambition of 
defending one's country, is equally laudable with 
that of guarding and regulating its laws. But 
the moment the good of the State ceafes to be 
the grand object of the pafiion, when perfonal 
aggrandizement fuperfedes patriotifm, and military 
ardour becomes a fever of conquefts and triumphs, 
the ftream of Ambition runs foul. Tullv, and 
the Scipios, Anilities, and Epaminondas, were 
ftatefmen, and generals ; Sylla, Dionyiius of 
Syracule, and Alexander of Macedon, were con- 
querors and tyrants. 

The genuine gratification of pre-eminence is 
the good of others. Let a man of the moil ex- 
tenfive power exert the whole, or rather all he 
can of it, upon his own individual pleafures ; in 
what narrow limits will it be confined ! Un- 
loving and unloved, the fenfes may be acted 

upon 



PART III.] AMBITION. 249 

upon for a while, but the heart can know no joy. 
On the other hand, he who ufes his means in 
diffufing happincfs, is foon confcious that his en- 
joyments are unbounded ; and not only where he 
does good, but where he fails, he is equally be- 
loved. 

The power arifing from wealth, may prove to 
be one of the moH rational bleflings of life ; and 
it is not, therefore, a wonder that it mould be the 
univerfal purfuit. It enables a man to improve 
his own faculties, and to diffufe knowledge and 
delight around him. It is only to be lamented, 
that he can do evil as well as good ; and that 
in the purfuit of them the fight of their true ufe 
is too often loft ; that they are fpent on vices, 
made the means of parade, orientation, and luxury; 
or hoarded, to manifefi the very impotence of 
power. 

It feems that inequality of conditions is necef- 
fary to thofe modes of life now marked out for 
the human fpecies : at prefent, the very word 
Society implies inequality. It is one of the ends 
of fociety to fecure to individuals thofe advan- 
tages, which have been honeftly obtained, either 
by their own labours, or by thofe of their friends 
and families. But for this, where fhould men 
look for any terreftrial happinefs, which is the 
chief end of afTociation ? Thefe advantages fe- 
cured, nothing can be clearer than that inequality 
mull: follow. I put this out of the queition as 

being 



250 AMBITION. [FART III. 

being a decided axiom. I wifh it were as clear 
an axiom that the inequality was a chief fource of 
focial happinefs, which, I think, it ought to be. 
It depends entirely upon thofe who gain the van- 
tage ground ; for wherever Nature beftows power, 
ilie beftows it for fervice. 

To expel difeafe, injuftice, and impiety, be- 
longs, peculiarly to physicians, lawyers, and the 
minifters of God : the power is in their hands, 
and in making ofe of it they fpread comfort and 
happinefs. The grand diftempers of a State, are 
poverty and vice ; and, to eradicate thefe, is the 
peculiar province of the rich. All power proceeds 
from the treafury of Nature ; and thofe to whom 
fhe difpenfes it are the minifters of her will. Ke- 
folve to obey her will, and no man can be too 
ambitious. 



Sect. III. The Defire of Fame. 

THE desire of Fame is almoft as general as 
that of power, and is alio a laudable Ambition. 
Men defire to be known, and to be fpoken of; 
and as the defire of being well fpoken of is an in- 
centive to virtue ; this pailion fhonld not be ex- 
tinguimed, but regulated. Cicero allures us 
that the defire of glory is the chief paiTion of the 
beft men; — trahimur omnes laudis fiudio, et 9f 
nrns qmiquQ maxime gloria ditcitur. Fame for uie- 

lefs 



PART III.] AMBITION. 251 

lefs and trifling qualities is abfard and ridiculous ; 
for talents, without virtue and piety, odious ; for 
virtue and piety, though unaccompanied with 
great talents, delightful ; and for talents, virtue, 
and piety united, is the lummit of human 
glory. 

Although the defire of extenfive reputation be 
a fair pafilon, it is to be conlidered that its very 
exiftence depends upon the exclufion of far the 
greater part of mankind; and that therefore the 
genuine incentives to talents, virtue, and piety, are 
to be fought elfewhere than in mortal voices. 
Out of the terreftrial fphere there is, perhaps, no 
fuch thing as fame. The book of nature contains 
the regiftry of all things that are pairing : beyond 
the limits of this world they are feen at once, and 
fcen for ever ; and the figh of pity, that rifes 
from the village, is as extenfively perceived, as 
the blow given by Brutus in the capitol. The 
little ^ftream of fame runs meandring along this 
globe, but is loft in the ocean of eternal intuition, 
where every heart-will appear under its real co- 
lours, and the reward of the good be love. 

But as the love of praife is allowed to be one of 
thebeft paflions of man, let us take a more exten- 
five view of it, in its origin and operation in the 
human breaft. Man naturally defires, not only to 
be loved, but to be lovely ; or to be that thing 
which is the natural and proper object of love. 
He naturally dreads, not only to be hated, 

but 



252 AMEITION. [PART III. 

but to be hateful ; or to be that thing which is 
the natural and proper object of hatred. He de- 
lires not only praife, but praife-worthinefs ; or to 
be that thing which, though it mould be prai fed 
by nobody, is, however, the natural and proper 
object of praife. He dreads, not only blame, but 
blanie-worthinefs ; or to be that thing which, 
though it fhould be blamed b] nobody, is, how- 
ever, the natural and proper object of blame. 

The love of praiie-worthinefs is by no means 
derived altogether from the love of praife. Thofe 
two principles, though they refemble one another, 
though they are conn md often blended 

with one another, are yet, in many refpects, dii- 
tinct and independent of one another. 

The love and admiration which we naturally 
conceive for thofe whole character and conduct we 
approve of, neceflarily difpofe us to deiire to be- 
come ourfelves the objects of the like agreeable 
fentiments, and to be as amiable and as admirable 
as thofe whom we love and admire the moft. 
Emulation, the anxious deiire that we ourfelves 
lhould excel, is originally founded in our admira- 
tion of the excellence of others. Neither can we 
be fatisfied with being merely admired for what 
other people are admired. We mult at leaft be- 
lieve ourfelves to be admirable for what they are 
admirable. But, in order to attain this fatisfae- 
tion, we muit become the impartial fpectators of 
our own character and conduct. We mutt en- 
deavour 



PART III.] AMBITION. 251 

deavour to view them with the eyes of other peo- 
ple, or as otherpeople are likely toviewthcin. When 
leen in this light, if they appear to us as we wifh, we 
are happy and contented. But it greatly confirms 
this happinefs and contentment when we find that 
otherpeople, viewingthem withthofe very eyeswith 
which we, in imagination only, were endeavour- 
ing to view them, fee them precifely in the fame 
light in which we ourfelves had feen them. Their 
approbation neceffarily confirms our Ovvn felf- ap- 
probation. Their praife neceffarily ftrengthens 
our own fenfe of our own praife-worthinefs. In 
this cafe, fo far is the love of praife-worthinefs 
from being derived altogether from that of praife ; 
that the love of praife feems, at lean: in a great 
meafure, to be derived from that of praife-worthi- 
nefs. 

The mofl fincere praife can give little pleafure 
when it cannot be confidered as fome fort of proof 
of praife-worthinefs. It is by no means fufficient 
that, from ignorance or miflake, efreem and ad- 
miration fhould, in fome way or other, be bellow- 
ed upon us. If we are confeious that we do not 
deferve to be fo favourably thought of, and that 
if the truth were known, we mould be regarded 
with very different fentiments, our fatisfaction 
is far from being complete. The man who ap- 
plauds us either for actions which we did not 
perform, or for motives which had no fort of in- 
fluence upon our conduct, applauds not us, 

but 



254 AMBITION. [PART III. 

but another perfon. We can derive no fort of 
fatisfaction from his praifes. To us they would 
be more mortifying than any cenfure, and fhould 
perpetually call to our minds, the molt humbling 
of all reflexions, the reflexion of what we ought 
to be, but what we are not. A woman who paints, 
could derive, one mould imagine, but little 
vanity from the compliments that are paid to her 
complexion. Thefe, we fhould expect, ought 
rather to put her in mind of the fentiments which 
her real complexion would excite, and mortify 
her the more by the contrail. To be pleafed with 
iuch groundlefs applaufe is a proof of the moft 
fuperricial levity and weaknels. It is a degree of 
vanity, one of the fpurious offsprings of felf love, 
and is the foundation of the moft ridiculous and 
contemptible vices, the vices of affectation and 
common lying ; follies, which, if experience did 
not teach us how common they are, one fhould 
imagine the lealt fpark of common fenfe would 
favc us from. The foolifh liar, who endeavours 
to excite the admiration of the company by the 
relation of adventures which never had any exis- 
tence ; the important coxcomb, who gives him- 
felf airs of rank and diftincYion which he well 
knows he has no juit pretenfions to ; are both of 
them, no doubt, pleafed with the applaufe which 
they fancy they meet with. But their vanity ariie< 
from fo grots an illution of the imagination, that 
it is difficult to conceive how any rational creature 

fhould 



FART III.] AMBITION. 255 

fhould be impofcd upon by it. When they place 
themielves in the fituation of thofe whom they 
fancy they have deceived, they are ftruck with 
the higheft admiration for their own perfons. 
They look upon themielves, not in that light in 
which they know they ought to appear to their 
companions, but in that in which they believe 
their companions actually look upon them. Their 
fuperficial weaknefs and trivial folly hinder them 
from ever turning their eyes inwards, or from fee- 
ing themfelves in that defpicable point of view in 
which their own confciences muft tell them that 
they would appear to every body, if the real truth 
fhould ever come to be known. 

As ignorant and groundlefs praife can give no 
folidjoy, no fatisfaction that will bear any ferious 
examination, fb, on the contrary, it often gives 
real comfort to reflect, that though no praife 
mould actually be beftowed upon us, our conduct, 
however, has been fuch as to deferve it, and has 
been in every refpect fuitable to thofe mcafures 
and rules by which praife and approbation are na- 
turally and commonly beftowed. We are pleafed 
not only with praife, but with having done what 
is pfaiie-worthy. We are pleafed to think that 
we fcive rendered ourfclves the natural objects of 
approbation, though no approbation mould ever 
actually be beftowed upon us, and we are mor- 
tified to reflect that we have juftly merited the 
blame of thofe we live with, though that fentt- 

. :\ r 



256 AMBITION. [PART III. 

rnent fhoud never actually be exerted againft us* 
The man who is confcious to himfelf that he has 
exactly obferved thofe meafures of conduct which 
experience informs him are generally agreeable, 
reflects with fatisfaction on the propriety of his 
own behaviour. When he views it in the light 
in which the impartial fpectator would view it, 
he throughly enters into all the motives which 
influenced it. He looks back upon every part of 
it with pleafure and approbation, and though 
mankind ihould never be acquainted with what 
he has done, he regards himielf, not fo much ac- 
cording to the light in which they actually regard 
him, as according to that in which they would 
regard him if they were better informed. He an- 
ticipates the applaufe and admiration which in 
this cafe would be beftowed upon him, and he 
applauds and admires himfelf by fympathy with 
fentimcnts, which do not indeed actually take 
place, but which the ignorance of the public 
alone hinders from taking place, which he knows 
are the natural and ordinary effects of fiich con- 
duct which his imagination ilrongly connects with 
it, and which he has acquired a habit of conceiv- 
ing as fometliing that naturally and in propriety 
ought to follow from it. Men have voluntarily 
thrown away life to acquire after death a renown 
which they could no longer enjoy. Their imagi- 
nation, in the mean time, anticipated the fame 
which was in future times bellowed upon them. 

Thofe 



?AfcT III.] AMBITION. 237 

Thofe applaufes which they were never to hear 
rung in their ears ; the thoughts of that admira- 
tion, whofe effects they were never to feel, played 
about their hearts, banifhed from their breads the 
ftrongeH" of all natural fears, and tranfportcd them 
to perform actions which feem almofl beyond 
the reach of human nature. But in point of re- 
ality th,ere is furely no great difference between 
that approbation which is not to be beflowed till 
we can no longer enjoy it, and that which, indeed, 
is never to be beftowed, but which would be be- 
llowed, if the world was ever made to underftand 
properly the real circumftances of our behaviour. 
If the one often produces fuch violent effects, we 
cannot wonder that the other mould always be 
highly regarded. 

Nature, when flic formed mail for fdciety> en- 
dowed him with an original defire to pleafe, and 
an original averfion to offend his brethren. She 
taught him to feel pleafure in their favourable, 
and pain in their unfavourable regard. She ren- 
dered their approbation moft flattering and mod: 
agreeable to him for its own Jake ; and their dis- 
approbation moft mortifying and moftoffenfive. 

But this defire of the approbation, and this 
averfion to the difapprobation of his brethren^ 
would not alone have rendered him fit for that 
fociety for which he was made. Nature, accor- 
dingly, has endowed him, not only with a defire 
of being -approved of, but with a defire of being 

S what 



SS$ AMBITION. [PARTI II?. 

what ought to be approved of; or of being what 
lie himfelf approves of in other men. The firft; 
defire could only have made him wifh to appear 
to be fit for fociety. The fccond was neceffary in 
order to render him anxious to be really fit. The 
firft could only have prompted him to the affecta- 
tion of virtue, and to the concealment of vice. 
The fecond was neceffary in order to infpire him 
with the real love of virtue, and with the real ab- 
horrence of vice. In every well-formed mind 
this fecond defire feems to be the ftronger of the 
two. It is only the weakeft and moft iuperficial 
of mankind who can be much delighted with that 
praife which they themfelves know to be altogether 
unmerited. A weak man may fometimes be pleaf- 
ed with it, but a wife man rejects it upon all oc- 
cafions. But, though a wife man feels little plca- 
fure from praife where he knows there is no praiie- 
worthinefs, lie often feels the bigheft in doing 
what he knows to be praife- worthy, though he 
knows equally well that no praife is ever to be be- 
llowed upon it. To obtain the approbation of 
mankind, where no approbation is due, ean never 
be an object of any importance to him. To ob- 
tain that approbation where it is really due, may 
fometimes be an object of no great importance to 
him. But to be that tiling which dcfeiVea appro- 
bation muft always be an object of the highefh 
To defire or even to accept of praife, where no 
praife is due, can be the effect only of the moft 

contempt i 



PART XII.] AMBITION. 259 

contemptible vanity. To defire it where it is 
really due, is to defire no more than that a moft 
elTential act of juftice fhould be done to us. The 
love of juft fame, of true glory, even for its own 
fake, and independent of any advantage which he 
can derive from it, is not unworthy even of a wife 
man. He fometimes, however, neglects, and even 
defpifes it ; and he is never more apt to do fo than 
when he has the moll: perfect aiTurance of the per- 
fect propriety of every part of his own conduct. 
His felf-approbation, in this cafe, Hands in need 
of no confirmation from this approbation of other 
men. It is alone fufficient, and he is contented 
with it. This felf-approbation, if not the only, 
is at leaft the principal object, about which he can 
or oueht to be anxious. The love of it, is the 
love of virtue. 

As the love and admiration which we naturally 
conceive for fome characters, difpofe us to wifh 
to become ourfelves the proper objects of fuch 
agreeable fentiments ; fo the hatred and contempt 
which we as naturally conceive for others, difpofe 
us, perhaps Hill more flrongly, to dread the very 
thought of refembling them in any refpect. Nei- 
ther is it, in this cafe too, fo much the thought 
of being hated and defpifed that we are afraid of, 
as that of being hateful and defpicable. We 
dread tjie thought of doing any thing which can 
render us the juft and proper objects of the hatred 
and contempt of our fellow-creatures ; even 

S3 though 



260 AMBITION. [PART ltf» 

though we had the moil perfect fecurity that thofe 
entiments were never actually to be exerted againit: 
us. The man who has broken through all thofe 
meafures of conduct, which can alone render him 
agreeable to mankind, though he mould have 
the moft perfect aiTurance that what he had done 
was for ever to be concealed from every human 
eye, it is all to no purpofe. When he looks back 
upon it, and views it in the light in which the 
impartial Spectator would view it, he finds that 
he can enter into none of the motives which in- 
fluenced it. He is abafhed and confounded at 
the thoughts of it, and neceffarily feels a very 
high degree of that fhame which lie would be 
expofed to, if his ac/Hons ihould ever come to be 
generally known. His imagination, in this cafe 
too, anticipates the contempt and derifion from 
which nothing laves him but the ignorance of 
thole he lives with. He ftill feels that he is the 
natural objeel: of thefe fentiments. and ftill trem- 
bles at the thought of what he would fuffer, if 
they v\ere ever actually exerted againit him. But 
if what he had been guilty of was not merely one 
of thofe improprieties which are the objects of 
fi triple diiapprobation, but one of thofe. enormous 
crimes which excite dcteftation and refentment, 
he could never think of it, as long as he had any 
fenfibility left, without feeling all the agony of 
horror and remorfe ; and though he could be 
lured that no. man was evei to know it, and could 

even 



IMHT III.] AMBITION. S§| 

even bring himfelf to believe that there was no 
God to revenge it, he would Hill feel enough of 
both thefe fentiments to embitter the whole of Ins 
life : he would ll ill regard himfclf as the natural 
object of the hatred and indignation o fall his 
fellow creatures ; and if his heart was not grown 
ous by the habit of crimes, he could not 
think without terror and nil onifhment even of the 
manner in which mankind would look upon him, 
of what would be the expreilion of their counte- 
nance and of their eyes, if the dreadful truth 
fhould ever come to be known. Thefe natural 
pangs of an affrighted coufcience are the demons, 
the avenging furies, which, in this life, haunt the 
guilty, which allow them neither quiet nor re- 
pofe, which often drive them to delpair and dif- 
fraction, from which no affii ranee of fecrecy can 
protect them, from which no principles of irreli- 
gion can entirely deliver them, and from which 
nothing can free them but the vileit and mod ab- 
ject of all ftates, a complete infenlibility to ho- 
nour and infamy, to vice and virtue. Men of the 
moft deteltable characters, who, in the execution 
of tile moft dreadful crimes, had taken their mea- 
fures fo coolly as to avoid even the fufpicion of 
guilt, have fometimes been driven, by the horror 
of their lituation, to difcover, of their own accord, 
what no human fagacity could ever have invefn- 
gated. By acknowledging their guilt, by fub- 
mktinsr themfelves to the refentment of their of- 

S 3 fended 



262 AMBITION, [PART III, 

fended fellow- citizens, and,, by thus fatiating that 
vengeance of which they were fenfible that they 
had become the proper objects, they hoped, by 
their death to reconcile themfelves, at leaft in their 
own imagination, to the natural fentiments of 
mankind : to be able to confider themfelves as 
lefs worrhy of hatred and refentment ; to atone, 
in fome meafure, for their crimes, and, by thus 
becoming the objects, rather of companion than 
of horror, if poffible to die in peace and with the 
forgivenefs of all the ; r fellow-creatures. Com- 
pared to what they felt before the difco- 
very, even the thought of this, it items, was 
happinefs. 

In fnch cafes, the horror of blamc-worthinels 
feems, even in perfons who cannot be fufpe<£ted 
of any extraordinary delicacy or fenfibility of cha- 
racter, completely to conquer the dread of blame. 
In order to allay that horror, in order to pacify, 
in fome degree, the remorfe of their own con- 
fciences, they voluntarily fubmitted themfelves 
both to the reproach and to the rmnifhment 
which they knew were due to their crimes, 
but which, at the fame time, they might eaiily 
have avoided. 

They are the moft frivolous and fuperficial of 
mankind only who can be much delighted with 
that praife which they themfelves know to be al- 
together unmerited. Unmerited reproach, how- 
ever, is frequently capable of mortifying very fe- 

verdy 



PART III.] AMBITION. 263 

verelv even men of more than ordinary conftuncy. 
Men of the molt ordinary constancy, indeed, 
eafily learn to deipiic thofe fooliili tales which are 
fo frequently circulated in lociety, and which, 
from their own abiurdity and f'allehood, never fail 
to die away in the courfe of a few weeks, or of a 
few clays. But an innocent man., though of more 
than ordinary conitancy, is often, not only lhock- 
cd, but molt feverely mortified by the ferious, 
though falfe, imputation of a crime ; efpecially 
when that imputation happens unfortunately to 
be fupported by foine circumllances which give 
it an air of probability. He is humbled to find 
that any body fhould think lb meanly of his cha- 
racter as to fuppofe him capable of being guilty 
of it. Though perfectly confeious of his own in- 
nocence, the very imputation feems often, even 
in his own imagination to throw a fhadow of dif- 
grace and dishonour upon his charadter. His 
jult indignation, too, at lb very grofs an injury, 
which, however, it may frequently be improper, 
and fometimes even impoffible to revenge, is it- 
felf a very painful fenfation. There is no greater 
tormentor of the human breaft than violent refent- 
ment which cannot be gratified. An innocent 
man, brought to the IcafFold by the falle imputa- 
tion of an infamous or odious crime, faffers the 
molt cruel misfortune which it is poflible for in- 
nocence to fuffer. The agony of his mind may 

S 4 in 



264 AMBITION. [PART III, 

in this cafe, frequently be greater than that 
of thofe who fafrer for the like crimes, of 
which they have been actually guilty. Pro- 
fligate criminals, iuch as common thieves and 
highwaymen, have frequently little fenfe of the 
bafenefs of their own conduct, and confe- 
quently no remorfe. Without t: ; them- 

f elves about the juftice or injustice of the punifh- 
ment, they have always been accuilomed to look 
upon the gibbet as a lot very likely to fall to 
them. When it does fall to them, therefore, 
they confider themfelves only as not quite fo lucky 
as fome of their co -pinions, and fubmit to their 
fortune, without any other uneafinefs than what 
may arife from the fear of death ; a fear which, 
even by fuch worthless wretches, we frequently 
fee, can be fo eatiiy, and fo very completely con- 
quered. The innocent man, on the contrary, 
over and above the uneafinefs which that fear may 
occaiion, is tormented by his own indignation at 
the injuftice which has been done to him. He 
is ftrnck with horror at the thoughts of the in- 
famy which the punifhment may ihed upon his 
menfory, and forefees, with the mod exquifite 
anguifh, that he is hereafter to be remembered by 
his deareft friends and relations, not with regret 
and affection, but with fhame, and even with 
horror of his fuppofed difgraceful conduct : and 
the ihades of death appear to cloie round him 

with 



JPART III.] AMBITION. 265 

with a darker and more melancholy gloom than 
naturally belongs to them. Such fatal accidents, 
for the tranquillity of mankind, it is to be hoped, 
happen very rarely in Liny country ; but they 
happen io netimes in all countries, even in tliofe 
where juaice is in general very well adminiftered. 
The unfortunate Galas, a man uf much more than 
ordinary eonitancy (broken upon the wheel and 
burnt at Thouloufe for the fuppofed murder of 
his own fon, of which he was perfectly innocent), 
feemed, with his laft breath, to deprecate, not io 
much the cruelty of the punishment, as the di£* 
grace which the imputation might bring upon his 
memory. After he had been broken, and was 
juft going to be thrown into the fire, the monk 
who attended the execution, exhorted him to con- 
fefs the crime for which he had been condemned. 
" My Father/' faid Calas, " can you bring your- 
felf to believe that I am guilty ?" 

To perfons in fuch unfortunate circumftances, 
that humble philofophy which confines its views 
to this life, can afford, perhaps, but little confb- 
lation. Every tiling that could render either life 
or death ref pe (Stable is taken from them. They 
are condemned to death and to everlail ing infamy. 
Religion can alone afford them any effectual com- 
fort. She alone can tell them, that it is of little 
importance what man may think of their conduct, 
while the all-feeing Judge of the world approves 
of it. She alone can prefent to them the view of 

another 



&66 AMBITION. [?AIIT III« 

another world ; a world of more candour, huma- 
nity, and juftice, than the prefent ; where their 
innocence is in due time to be declared, and their 
virtue to be finally rewarded : and the fame great 
principle Which can alone ftrike terror into trium- 
phant vice, affords the only effectual confolation 
to difgraced and infulted innocence. 

In fmaller offences, as well as in greater crimes, 
it frequently happens that a perfon of feniibility is 
much more hurt by the unjufl imputation, than 
the real criminal is by the actual guilt. A woman 
of gallantry laughs even at the well-founded fur- 
mifes which are circulated concern-'" her conduct. 
The worft founded furmife or the lame kind is a 
mortal flab to an innocent virgin. The perfon 
who is deliberately guilty of a difgraceful action, 
we may lay it down, I believe, as a general rule, 
can feldom have much fenfe of the difgrace ; and 
the perfon who is habitually guilty of it, can 
fcarce ever have any. 

When every man, even of middling, under- 
itanding, lb readily defpifes unmerited applaufe, 
how it comes to pais that unmerited reproach 
ihould often be capable of mortifying fo feverely 
men of the founded: and bell: judgment, may, per- 
haps, defer ve fome confideration. 

Pain is, in almoir. all caies, a more pungent 
fenfation than the oppoflte and correfpondent plea- 
fure. The one, aim oil always, deprelTes as much 
Jnore below 7 the ordinary, or what may be called 

the 



PART III.] AMBITION. 207 

the natural flare of our happinefs, than the other 
ever raifes us above it. A man of fenfibility is 
apt to be more humiliated by juit cenfure than he 
is elevated by juft a.pplaufe. Unmerited applaufe 
a wife man rejects with contempt upon all occa- 
lions ; but he often feels very levercly the injuf- 
tice of unmerited cenfure. By furrering himfelf 
to be applauded for what he has not performed, 
by aifuming a merit which does not belong to 
him, he feels that he is guilty of a mean falfehood, 
and deferves, not the admiration, but the con- 
tempt of thole very perfons who, by miftake, had 
been led to admire him. It may, perhaps, give 
him feme well-founded pleafure to find that he 
lias been, by many people, thought capable of 
performing what he did not perform. But, 
though he may be obliged to his friends for their 
good opinion, he would think himfelf guilty of 
the greateft bafenefs if he did not immediately un- 
deceive them. It gives him little pleafure to look 
upon himfelf in the light in which other people 
actually look upon him, when he is conic ions 
that, if they knew the truth, they would look 
upon him in a very different light. A weak man, 
however, is often much delighted with viewing 
himfelf in this falfe and delufivc light. He af- 
fumes the merit of every laudable action that is 
gfcribed to him, and pretends to that of many 
which nobody ever thought of afcribing to him. 
He pretends to have done what he never did, to 

have 



368 AMBITION. ["PART III. 

have written what another wrote, to have invented 
what another difcovered ; and is led into all the 
miferable vices of plagiarifm and common lying. 
But though no man of middling good fenfe can 
derive much pleafure from the imputation of a 
laudable action which he never performed, yet a 
wife man may fuller great pain from the ferious 
imputation of a crime which he never committed. 
Nature, in this cafe, has rendered the pain, 

Dre pungent than the oppcfite and corre- 
fpondent pleafure, but fhe has rendered it fo in a 
much greater than the ordinary degree. A denial 
rids a man at once of the fooliih and ridiculous 
pleafure; but it will not always rid him of the 
pain. When he refufes the merit which is afcribed 
to him, nobody doubts his veracity. It may be 
doubted when he denies the crime which he is ac- 
cufed of. He is at once enraged at the falfehood 
of the imputation, and mortified to find that any 
credit mould be given to it. He feels that his 
character is not fufficient to protect him. He 
feels that his brethren, far from looking upon 
him in that light in which he anxiouily defires to 
be vieived by them, think him capable of being 
guilty of what he is accufed of. He knows per- 
fectly what he has done; but, perhaps, fcarce 
any man can know perfectly what he himfelf 
is capable of doing. What the peculiar confti- 
tution of his own mind may or may not admit 
of> is, perhaps, more or lefs a matter of doubt to 

every 



PART III.] AMBITION. 269 

every man. The truft and goocl opinion of his 
friends and neighbours, tend more than any thing 
to relieve him from this moft difagreeable doubt ; 
their dillruft and unfavourable opinion to increafe 
it. He may think himfelf very confident that 
their unfavourable judgment is wrong : but this 
confidence can feldom be fo great as to hinder that 
judgment from making fome impreiTion upon 
him; and the greater his fenfibility, the greater 
his delicacy, the greater his worth in fhort, this im- 
preffion is likely to be the greater. 

The agreement or difagreement both of the 
fentiments and judgments of other people with 
our own, is, in all cafes, it muft be obferved, o£ 
more or lefs importance to us, exactly in propor- 
tion as we ourfelves are more or lefs uncertain 
about the propriety of our own fentiments, about 
the accuracy of our own judgments. 

A man of fenfibility may fometimes feel great 
unealinefs left he mould have yielded too much 
even to what may be called an honourable pafiion ; 
to his juft indignation, perhaps, at the injury 
which may have been done either to himfelf or 
to his friend. He is anxiouily afraid left, mean- 
ing only to act with fpirit, and to do juftice, he 
may, from the too great vehemence of his emo- 
tion, have done a real injury to fome other per- 
fon ; who, though not innocent, may not have 
been altogether fo guilty as he at flrft apprehend- 
ed. The opinion of other people becomes, id 

this 



S?0 AMBITION. [PART III. 

this cafe, of the utmoft importance to him. Their 
approbation is the moil: healing balfam ; their 
difapprobation, the bittereil and moil tormenting 
poiibn that can be poured into his uneafy mind. 
When he is perfectly fatisiied with every part of 
his own conduct, the judgment of other people is 
often of lefs importance to him. 

There are fome very noble and beautiful arts, 
in which the degree of excellence can be deter- 
mined only by a certain nicety of tafte, of which 
the decifions, however, appear always, in fome 
meafure, uncertain. There are others, in which 
the fuccefs admits, either of clear demonstration, 
or very iatisfactory proof. Among- the candidates 
for excellence in thefe different arts, the anxiety 
about the public opinion is always much greater 
in the former than in fche latter. 

The beauty of poetry is a matter of fuch nicety, 
that a young beginner can fearer, ever be certain 
that he has attained it. Nothing delights him fa 
much, therefore, as the favourable judgments of 
his friends and of the public : and nothing mor- 
tifies him fo feverely as the contrary. The one 
eftablifhes, the other fhafces, the good opinion 
which he is anxious to entertain concerning his 
own performances. Experience and fuccefs may 
in time give him a little more confidence in his 
own judgment. He is at all time-, however, 
liable to be molt feverely mortified by the un- 
favourable judgments of the public Kacine was 

ib 



TART III.] AMBITION. 2?l 

fo difgu,ded by the indifferent fuccefs of his 
Phaedra, one of the fined tragedies extant in any 
language, that, though in the vigour of his life, 
and at the height of his abilities, he refolved to 
write no more for the flage. That great poet 
ufed frequently to tell his Ion, that the moll paltry 
and impertinent criticifm had always given him 
more pain, than the higher* and jufteft eulogy 
had ever given him pleafure. The extreme fan- 
iibility of Voltaire to the flighted cenfure of the 
fame kind is well known to every body. The 
Dunciad of Mr. Pope is an everlafting monument 
of how much the molt correct, as well as the moll 
elegant and harmonious of all the Englifh poets, 
had been hurt by the criticifms of the lowed and 
mod contemptible authors. Gray (who joins to 
the fublimity of Milton the elegance and harmony 
of Pope, and to whom nothing is wanting to ren- 
der him, perhaps, the firft poet in the Englifh 
language, but to have written a little more) is faid 
to have been fo much hurt, by a foolifh and im- 
pertinent parody of two of his fined odes, that he 
never afterwards attempted any confiderable work. 
Thofe men of letters who value themfelves upon 
what is called fine writing in prole, approach 
fomewhat to the fenfibility of poets. 

Mathematicians, on the contrary, who may 
have the moft'perfecl: alTurance, both of the truth 
and of the importance of their difcoveries, are 
frequently very in different about the reception 

which 



272 ambition/ [part III. 

which they may meet with from the public. The 
two greateft mathematicians of their age, Dr. Ro- 
bert Simpfon of Glafgow, and Dr. Matthew Stewart 
of Edinburgh, never feemed to feel even the 
flighteft uneafinefs from the neglect with w r hich 
the ignorance of the public received fome of their 
moft valuable works. The great work of Sir 
Ifaac Newton, his Mathematical Principles of Na- 
tural Philofophy, I have been told, was for feveral 
years neglected by the public. The tranquillity 
of that great man, it is probable, never fuffered, 
upon that account, the interruption of a fingle 
quarter of an hour. Natural philofophers, in their 
independence upon the public opinion, approach 
nearly to mathematicians, and, in their judgments 
concerning the merit of their own difcoveries and 
obfervations, enjoy fome degree of the fame fe- 
curity and tranquillity. 

The morals of thofe different claiTes of men of 
letters are, perhaps, fometimes fomewhat affected 
by this very great difference in their iituation 
with regard to the public. 

Mathematicians and natural philofophers, from 
their independence upon the public opinion, have 
little temptation to form thcmielves into factions 
and cabals, either for the lupport of their own 
reputation, or for the depreihon of that of their 
rivals. They are aim oft always men of the moft 
amiable -iimplicity of manners, who live in good 
harmony with one another, are the friends of one 

another's 



PART III.] AMBITION. 273 

another's reputation, enter into no intrigue in 
order to fecure the public applaufe, but are pleated 
when their works are approved of, withou. being 
either much vexed or very angry when they are 
neglected. 

It is riot always the fame Cafe with poets, or 
with thofe who value themfelves upon what is 
called fine writing. They are very apt to divide 
themfelves into a fort of literary factions ; each 
cabal being often avowedly and almoft always fe- 
cretly, the mortal enemy of the reputation of every 
other, and employing all the mean arts of intrigue 
and folicitation to pre -occupy the public opinion 
in favour of the works of its Own members, and 
againft thofe of its enemies and rivals. In France, 
Defpreaux and Racine did not think it below 
them to fet themfelves at the head of a literary 
cabal in order to deprefs the reputation, firft of 
Quinault and Perrault, and afterwards of Fonte- 
nelle and La Motte, and even to treat the good La 
Fontaine with a fpecies of the moft difreipectful 
kindnefs. In England, the amiable Mr. Addifon 
did not think it unworthy of his gentle and niodeft 
character to fet him (elf at the head of a little 
cabal of the fame kind, in order to keep down the 
riling reputation of Mr. Pope. Mr. Fontenelie, 
in writing the lives and cnaracters of the mem- 
bers of the academy of fciences, a fociety of ma- 
thematicians and natural philoibphers, has frequent 
opportunities of celebrating the amiable fimplicity 
of their manners ; a quality which, he obferves, 

T was 



2f4 AMBITION. [PART III. 

was fo univerfal among them as to be chara&eriftic 
rather of that whole clafs of men of letters, 
than of any individual. M. D'Alembert, in 
writing the lives and characters of the. members of 
the French academy, a fociety of poets and fine 
writers, or of thofe who are fuppofed to be fuch, 
feems not to have had fuch frequent opportunities 
of making any remark of this kind, and no where 
pretends to repreient this amiable quality as cha- 
racterise of that clafs of men of letter swhom he 
celebrates. 

Our uncertainty concerning our own merit, and 
our anxiety to think favourably of it, mould toge- 
ther naturally enough make us defirous to know 
the opinion of other people concerning it ; to be 
more than ordinarily elevated when that opinon is 
favourable, and to be more than ordinarily morti- 
fied when it is otherwife : but they mould not make 
us defirous either of obtaining the favourable, or 
of avoiding the unfavourable opinion, by intrigue 
and cabal. When a man has bribed all the 
judges, the moft unanimous decifion of the court, 
though it may gain him his law-fuit, cannot give 
him any afliirance that he was in the right : and 
had he carried on his law-fuit merely to fatisfy 
himfelf that he was in the right, he never would 
have bribed the judges. But though he wifh- 
ed to find himfelf in the right, he wilhed like- 
wife to gain his law-fuit ; and therefore he- 
bribed the judges. If praife were of no con- 
fequence to us, but as a proof of our own praife- 

worthinefs, 



PART III.] AMBITION. 275 

worthiness, we never fhould endeavour to obtain 
it by unfair means. But, though to wife men it is, 
at leaft in doubtful cafes, of principal confe- 
quence upon this account ; it is likewife of fbme 
confequence upon its own account : and therefore 
(we cannot, indeed, upon fuch occafions, call 
them wife men, but) men very much above the 
common level have fometimes attempted both to 
obtain praife and to avoid blame, by very unfair 
means. 

Praife and blame exprefs what actually are ; 
praiie-worthinefs and blame-worthinefs, what na- 
turally ought to be the fentiments of other people 
with regard to our character and conduct. The 
love of praife is the defire of obtaining the fa- 
vourable fentiments of our brethren. The love 
of praife -worthinefs is the defire of rendering our- 
felves the proper objects of thofe fentiments. So 
far thofe two principles refcmble and are akin to 
one another. The like affinity and refemblance 
take place between the dread of blame and that of 
blame-worthinefs. 

The man who defires to do, or who actually 
does, a praife-worthy action, may likewife deiire 
the praife which is due to it, and fometimes, per- 
haps, more than is due to it. The two princi- 
ples are in this cafe blended together. How far 
his conduct may have been influenced by the 
one, and how far by the other, may frequently be 
unknown even to himfelf. It muft almoft always 
be f® to other people. They who are difpofed to 
T 1 leflen 



276 AMBITION. [PART III. 

leflen the merit of his conduct, impute it chiefly 
or altogether to the mere love of praife, or to 
what they call mere vanity. They who are dif- 
pofed to think more favourably of it, impute it 
chiefly or altogether to the love of praife-worthi- 
nefs ; to the love of what is really honourable and 
noble in human conduct ; to the defire not merely 
of obtaining, but of deferving the approbation 
and applaufe of his brethren. The imagination 
of the fpectator throws upon it either the one 
colour or the other, according either to his habits 
of thinking, or to the favour or diflike which he 
may bear to the perfqn whofe conduct he is con- 
lidering. 

Some fplenetic philofophers, in judging of hu- 
man nature, have done as peevifh individuals are 
apt to do in judging of the conduct of one another, 
and have imputed to the love of praife, to or 
what they call vanity, every action which ought 
to be afcribed to that of praife-worthinefs. 

Very few men can be fatisfied with their own 
private confcioufnefs that they have attained thofe 
qualities, or performed thofe actions, which they 
admire and think praife- worthy in other people ; 
unlefs it is, at the fame time, generally acknow- 
ledged that they poflefs the one, or have per- 
formed the other ; or, in other words, unlefs 
they have actually obtained that praife which they 
think due both to the one and to the otfter. In 
this refpect, however, men differ coniiderably 

from 



PART III.] AMBITION. 277 

from one another. Some feem indifferent about 
the praife, when, in their own minds, they are 
perfectly iatisfied that they have attained the 
praife-worthinefs. Others appear much lefs, anxious 
about the praife-worthinefs than about thepraife. 

No marl can be completely, or even tolerably 
fatisfled, with having avoided every thing blame- 
worthy in his conduct ; unlefs he has likewife 
avoided the blame or the reproach. A wife man 
may frequently neglect praife, even when he has 
beft deferved it ; but, in all matters of ferious 
confequence, he will moft carefully endeavour 
fo to regulate his conduct, as to avoid, not only 
blame-worthinefs, but, as much. as poffible, every 
probable imputation of blame. He will never, 
indeed, avoid blame by doing any thing which he 
judges blame-worthy ; by omitting any part of 
his duty, or by neglecting any opportunity of 
doing any thing which he judges to be really and 
greatly praife-worthy. But, with thefe modifica- 
tions, he will moft anxioufly and carefully avoid 
it. To fhew much anxiety about praife, even for 
praife-worthy actions, is feldom a mark of great 
wifdom, but generally of fome degree of weaknefs. 
But, in being anxious to avoid the fhadow of 
blame or reproach, there may be no weaknefs, but 
frequently the moft praife-worthy prudence. 

" Many people," fays Cicero, " defpife glory, 
who are yet moft feverely mortified by unjuft re- 
proach ; and that moft inconfiftently." This in- 
T 3 . confiftency. 



273 AMBITION. [PART III. 

confi lency, however, feems to be founded in the 
unalterable pi mciples of human nature. 

The all-wife Author of Nature has, in this man- 
ner, taught man to refpecl the fentiments and 
judgments of his brethren ; to be more or lefs 
pleafed when they approve of his conduct, and to 
be more or lefs hurt when they difapprove of it. 
He has made man, if I may fay fo, the immediate 
judge of mankind ; and has in this reipecl, as in 
many others, created him after his own image, 
and appointed him his vicegerent upon earth, to 
fuperintend the behaviour of his brethren. They 
are taught by nature, to acknowledge that power 
and jurifdiclion which has thus been conferred 
upon him, and to be more or lefs humbled and 
mortified when they have incurred his cenfure, and 
to be more or lefs elated when they have obtained 
his applaufe. 

But though man has, in this manner, been 
rendered the immediate judge of mankind, he has 
been rendered fo only in the flrtt inftance ; and 
an appeal lies from his fentence to a much higher 
tribunal, to the tribunal of their own confidences, 
to that of the fuppofed impartial and well-informed 
fpedlator, to that of the man within the breaft, 
the great judge and arbiter of their conduct. The 
jurifdiclions of thofe two tribunals are founded 
upon principles which, though in fome refpecls 
refembling and akin, are, however, in reality dif- 
ferent and diftincl. The jurisdiction of the man 
without, is founded altogether in the defire of 

actual 



PART III.] AMBITION. 279 

actual praife, and in the averfion to actual blame. 
The jurisdiction of the man within, is founded al- 
together in thedefire of praife-wonhinefs ; and in 
the averfion to blame-worthinefs ; in the deiire of 
poflfeffing thofe qualities, and performing thofc 
actions, which we love and admire in other peo- 
ple ; and in the dread of pofl effing thofe qualities, 
and performing thofe actions, which we hate and 
defpife in other people. If the man without 
fhould applaud us, either for actions which we 
have not performed, or for motives which had no 
influence upon us ; the man within can immedi- 
ately humble that pride and elevation of mind 
which fuch groundlefs acclamations might other- 
wife occafion, by telling us, that as we know that 
we do not de/erve them, we render ourfelves de- 
fpicable by accepting them. If, on the contrary, 
the man without fhould reproach us, either for 
actions which we never performed, or for motives 
which had no influence upon thofe which we may 
have performed ; the man within may immedi- 
ately correct: this falfe judgment, and aflure us, 
that we are by no means the proper objects of that 
cenfure which has fo unjuftly been beftowed upon 
us. But in this and in fome other cafes, the man 
within feems fometimes, as it were, aftonifhed and 
confounded by the vehemence and clamour of the 
man without. The violence and loudnefs, with 
which blame is fometimes poured out upon us, 
feem to ftupify and benumb our natural fenfe of 
praife- worthinefs and blame-worthinefs ; and the 
T 4 judgments 



280 AMBITION. [PART III# 

judgments of the man within, though not, per- 
haps, abibluteiy altered or perverted, are, how- 
ever, fo much fhaken in their fteadinefs and flrm- 
nefs of their decifion, that their natural effect, in 
fecuring the tranquillity of the mind 5 is frequently 
in a great meafure defiroyed. M r e fcarcelv dare to 
abfolve ourfelves, when all our brethren appear 
loudly to condemn us. The fuppofed ir pa - al 
fpectator of our conduct feems to gi» t his opinion 
in our favour with fear and hefi ratio::, when that 
of all the real fpectators, when that of all thcfe 
with whoie eyes, and from whofe ftation he endea- 
vours to confider it, is unanimoufly and violently 
againft us, In fuch cafes, this demi-god within 
the brcaft appears, like the demi-gods of the poets, 
though partly of immortal, yet partly too of mor- 
tal extraction. When his judgments are fleadily 
and firmly directed by the fenfe of praife-worthi- 
nefs and blame-worthinefs, he feems to act ftiita- 
bly to his divine extraction : but when he fufrers 
himfelftobe afroniined and confounded by the 
judgments of ignorant and weak man, he difcovers 
his connexion with mortality, and appears to act 
fuitably, rather to the human, than to the divine, 
part of his origin. 

In fuch cafes, the only effectual confolation of 
humbled and afflicted man lies in an appeal to a 
ftill higher tribunal, to that of the all- feeing 
Judge of the world, whofe eye can never be de- 
ceived, and whofe judgments can never be per- 
verted. 



pAUT III.] AMBITION. 281 

verted. A firm confidence in the unerring recti- 
tude of this great tribunal, before which his inno" 
cence is in due time to be declared, and his virtue 
to be finally rewarded, can alone fupport him un- 
der the weaknels and defpondency of his own 
mind, under the perturbation and aftonifhment 
of the man within the breaft, whom nature has let 
up as, in this life, the great guardian, not only of 
his innocence, but of his tranquillity. Our hap- 
pineis in this life is thus, upon many occafions, 
dependent upon the humble hope and expectation 
of a life to come : a hope and expectation deeply 
rooted in human nature ; which can alone fup- 
port its lofty ideas of its own dignity ; can alone 
illumine the dreary profpect of its continually ap- 
proaching mortality, and maintain its cheerful- 
nefs under all the heavier!: calamities to which, from 
the difbrders of this life, it may fometimes be ex- 
pofed. That there is a world to come, where ex- 
act juftice will be done to every man, where every 
man will be ranked with thofe who, in the moral 
and intellectual qualities, are really his equals ; 
where the owner of thofe humble talents and vir- 
tues which, from being depreffed by fortune, had, 
in this life, no opportunity of difplaying them- 
selves ; which were unknown, not only to the 
public, but which he himfelf could fcarcely be fure 
that he pofTerTed, and for which even the man 
within the breafl could fcarcely venture to afford 
him any diftinct and clear teftimony ; where that 

mode ft, 



232 AMBITION* O-ARTZII* 

modeft, filent, and unknown merit will be placed 
upon aleve) with, and ibmetimes above thofe who, 
in this world, had enjoyed the higheft reputation, 
and who, from the advantage of their fituation, 
had been enabled to perform the moft fplendid and 
dazzling actions ; is a doctrine in every refpect 
fo venerable, fo comfortable to the weaknefs, fo 
flattering to the grandeur of human nature, that 
the virtuous man who has the misfortune to doubt 
of it, cannot poflibly avoid wifhing molt eameftly 
and anxioufly to believe it. 

Sect. IV. Avarice. 

I Judge Avarice to be a deviation of the 
pailion of Ambition. The deiire of power and 
cireem lurks at the bottom of the love of gold. 
To no other fpring is it poflible to trace this pro- 
penfity ; as the fear of want itfelf muft ariie from 
the deiire of pofTeiTing what we dread to loie. It 
is, however, unnatural and difgraceful to the mind 
lof man. " A covetous difpofition," fays Tully> 
u is to be avoided: for nothing more flrongly 
marks a narrow foal than to love riches : or an 
honourable and noble one than to deipife money if 
poor, and to ufe it beneficially and liberally if 
rich. Be cautious too," fays he, " of coveting 
even glory, for to defire any thing too eagerly is 
to endanger independence, the grand object of 
every wife man's ambition/* 6( Pecuniae fugienda 

cupiditas ; 



pART III.] AMBITION. 283 

cupiditas ; nihil enim eit tarn angufti animi, tain* 
que parvi, quam amare divitias : nihil honeftius 
ma^niiicentiusque quam pecuniam contemnere, fi 
non habeas ; fi habeas ad beneficentiam liberali- 
tatemquc conferre. Cavenda eft etiam glorias 
cupiditas ; eripit enim libertatem, pro qua mag- 
nanimis viris omnis debet eile contentio." Did 
we not know it to be a fact, we mould hardly be 
able to credit, that there are men, whofe only en- 
joyment of money is to hoard it. If, as I verily 
believe it to be in the prefent ftate of the world, 
it is the intention of Providence, that the rich 
ihould be the flewards of the poor, and are ap- 
pointed by God to foften the rigours of their 
condition, what will the mifer have to fay for 
himfelf? Yet in ftamping Avarice with the 
odium due to it, let us be careful not to infringe 
upon the refpect due to thofe virtues, which 
prodigals would fain confound with it. Econo- 
my and frugality, are as diftant from Avarice, 
as beneficence and liberality, and indeed may be 
called the handmaids of the latter. On the other 
fide, let not the mifer deceive himfelf under their 
names. By the following characteriftics he fhall 
know himfelf, and be fully enabled to diftinguifh 
the vicious paffions from thofe virtues. 

Wholefome and agreeable food, fuel, good 
cloaths, a convenient houfewell furnifhed, fervants ; 
jiay, farther, horfes and carriages, are all either 
neceflaries, or defirable comforts. I think I allow 

a full 



284 AMBITION. [PART III. 

a full fcope to the virtues of economy and fruga- 
lity, when I fay he is not a mifer, who, in order 
to attain thefe comforts, is fedulous in the amafs- 
m< nt of money. Nor is he a mifer who, already 
poiTeffing thefe, ftill amafies, with the view of 
p r ov r iding them for his offspring. But he is a 
mifer, who having more than will fupply thefe» 
holds the filthy dirt within his gripe inflead of 
fcattering it with profufion : he is a mifer, who 
out of his permitted economy, contrives not fre- 
quently to rob himfelf largely, in order to folace 
the woes of beings no otherwife related to him 
than as they are the children of God, 



Sect. V. Envy. 

ENVY I judge alfo to be a deviation of the 
paflion of Ambition. It is that uneafy emotion 
which is felt on the advantages, be they what they 
may, that are in pofTeffton of others. The ge- 
nuine nature of Ambition is to aim at the attain- 
ment of excellence, for the fake of its beauty and 
utility; it becomes fpurious when it ftruggles, 
comparatively, through the mere defire of fupe- 
riority : and thus we fee, it is the quality of great 
minds to love and to praife their competitors ; 
while fordid fpirit6 hate and defame them. From 
the eagernefs for fuperiority, firit engendered in 
the fpirit of Lucifer, fprang this diabolical de- 
pravity 



PART III.] AMBITfON. 285 

pravity of the paflion. It is a 1 foul and difgrace- 
ful diforder of the foul : let it be detected and 
crufhed. While we defire, and purfue real ad 
vantages, we only obey the voice of Nature ; but 
the moment we are irritated at thole of another, 
wc attend no longer to her ; we refign ourfelves ; 
to Envy. 

Envy is a fhame-faced monfter, that afTumes 
a variety of difguifes, and, in general, paffes unex- 
amined ; but may be eafily discovered. As for 
the heart it feizes upon, from that it fhall not 
be concealed : however ingenious it may be in 
deceiving others and itfelf, let it be fenfible of 
the dominion of Envy from this unequivocal 
character ; that it excites uneafinefs at the advan- 
tages of others. 

The mind that is fo ignoble as to become the 
prey of this pafTion, readily yields to its malignant 
fuggeftions. Its aim is to detract: and to degrade; 
and there is no degree of crime to which it will 
not impel, from the fneer of malice to the perpetra- 
tion of murder. 

To know the bafenefs of Envy, we have only 
to reflect upon its operations. It does not, like 
mod of the other pailions, propofe to itfelf either 
profit or pleafure ; but folely grieves that others 
fhould be pofTefTed of their enjoyment, and exiits 
by conftant depredations on virtue, on b< auty, and 
on every fpecies of happinefs. It is a itriiv.ag 
inconfiftency of this paflion, that it proclaims ia 

fact 



286 AMBITION. [PART UTi 

fact what it denies by infinuAtion and flander; 
for no one envies an inferior, and to envy is to 
confefs fuperiority in the object envied. 

It has been remarked that thofe who have per* 
fonal, and other adventitious defects, are envious; 
u Becaufe," fays Bacon, " he that cannot pofTibly 
mend his own cafe, will do what he can to impair 
that of others, excepting thefe defects light upon 
a very brave and heroical nature, that mall difpofe 
a man to make them additional fources of honour, 
by achieving excellence in their defpite." 

If the remark be juft, it feems to urge in thofe 
cafes a double care in providing a proper fupport 
for the mind, which, like the body, mint have 
fometbing to fuftain it. " It will," fays the fame 
great genius, " either feed upon its own good or 
upon other's evil ; who wants the one will prey 
upon the other ; and who is hopelefs of attaining 
to another's virtue, will feek the level by deprefs- 
in£ another's fortune." From thefe remarks it is 
evident, that this unnatural purfuit of detraction 
and degradation, this difeafe of the foul may be 
prevented or cured, by iupplying the mind with 
a lafting fund of its own virtues, to fatisfy itfelf. 
Begin foon, my children, to do fuch things as 
memory may dwell upon with pleafure ; obtain 
early the defire of making others happy, eftablilh 
the habit of attending to the innocent wiihes of 
thofe with whom you live; and let your words 
&nd actions be ever ready to promote the good of 

all ! 



PART III.] AMBITION. 287 

all ! Knowledge, and accompli foments, entertain 
and delight ; but a conduct that produces happi- 
nefs to others is the food that fills the foul, and 
generates that celeftial health which cannot be 
aftedted with the corroding humours of Envy. 

Are we then never to blame ? Is the daw to 
be fuffered to ftrut in the feathers of the peacock; 
and not a plume to be extracted from his train ? 
Detection and cenfure are the weapons of juft in- 
dignation ; but unlefs the former clearly precede 
the latter, it may be fufpected to arife from ma- 
levolence. To a good heart cenfure is ever pain- 
ful : it belongs properly to the underftanding, 
and is a part of its duty. It is the office of reafon 
to difcriminate between virtue and vice, in all 
their degrees; and to be juft in dealing refpective 
praife and blame: but it fhould be the quality of 
the heart to open its avenues to praife, and care- 
fully to queiYion blame before it receives fo noxi- 
ous a gueft. It fhould endeavour, too, to attach 
odium upon guilt, which is unchangeable, and to 
be lenient, as far as can be, where vice is not in- 
herent, and where it is poffible it may give place to 
virtue. 

Sluggifh commendation is a prominent mark of 
an envious mind. They who praife decided merit 
with a but, and if it were not for, and a yet, may 
be rather faid obliquely to condemn than honeilly 
to extol. 

As 



288 AMBITION. [PART II I* 

As ambition deviates into falfe conceptions of 
what is great, Envy purfues the imaginary train. 
There is no ideal object of petty ambition on 
which it does not work : equipage, furniture, 
drefs, table ; nay, even defects, if they be fashion- 
able, the diminutive fhoe of a Belle, or the flender 
calves of a Beau. 

Children are not early fubjecl: to envy. The 
firft emotions of an infant are peeviiri or compla- 
cent. This is according to the treatment it re- 
ceives. Its firft cries proceed from unpleafant 
fenfations, felt by its corporeal organs ; its firft 
fmiles are at the breaft, and are the effects of 
thofe that are pleafant. When, from repeated 
obfervation, it has become acquainted with the 
perfon who fetters it in fwaddling cl oaths, and the 
perfon that nourifhes it with milk, it begins to be 
angry or to love. 

But children do not begin to be envious till 
they are praifed and rewarded for excelling 
others, and are treated contemptuouily for being 
excelled. We may fay what we will in favour 
of emulation, it is the fofter-mother of Envy; and 
it is greatly to be wiilied that youth could be in- 
fpired with the deli re of excellence rather than 
of Superiority : for I cannot bring my mind to 
believe, that Ambition is fo odious a thing as it has 
been reprefented, though under brilliant colours, 
by Mr. Burke ; who, I think, lias too haitily 

afcribed 






PART III.] AMBITION. CS9 

afcribed to the Deity, the planting in man the 
love of Comparative.' excellence *. That it does 
exift in man, and very generally, there is no deny- 
ing, though I cannot but think it a deviation, and 
that the love of pofitive excellence is a much fu- 
periorpaflion, which, added to the imitative facul- 
ty is a means of forwarding the improvement of 
the human race more worthy of the Supreme Be- 
ing. I do not believe that the folution of a fingle 
problem of Euclid was the refult of this vain 
ambition ; or that Sir Ifaac Newton's difcoveries 
fprung from a defire of his excelling Leibnitz or 
Des Cartes. Did emulation excite us to love as 
well as to admire the perfon, and to wifh to attain 
his excellences, yet love him for furpafling us, 
there would be nothing different in it from the 
love of pofitive excellence; but when it excites 
competition only to produce in man the latisfac- 
tion of excelling his fellows, and to give " a fort 
of fwelling triumph to his mind," I think it, even 
though it does not proceed to the length of Envy> 
a deviation of pure Ambition, and am willing to 
hope that the attainment of excellence, particularly 
in fublimer objects, more naturally arifes from 
the love of excellence itfelf ; for I will be bold to 
fay, that it is more acceptable and congenial to the 
great and adorable Source of all excellence. 

* See his Sublime and Beautiful. 

U Children 



290 AMBITION. [PART III, 

Children feldom envy one another their enjoy- 
ments, and never till they have been taught by 
example. The boy who breaks the molt tops, 
wins the moft marbles, has the moft pocket- 
money, or largeft cake, is not envied ; if he tyran- 
nize or vaunt, he is hated or defpifed. But chil- 
dren are taught at home to compare the lituation 
of their parents with that of the parents of their 
companions ; to fix imaginary value on things, 
and to hate all fuperiority. Envy is thus fown. 
It is a pafTion from which the human heart might 
be more generally exempted, if care were taken 
to inform children of its nature, and to inculcate 
early, that the happinefs of others is a genuine 
fource of delight, while felrlfhnefs provokes uni- 
verfal difguft, and terminates in mifery. 



CHAPTER 



( *9l ) 



CHAPTER II. 

ANGER. 

S e c t . I . Its Fa rieties and Deviations . 

_/\NGERis a turbulent emotion of the mind, arif- 
ing from fomething that offends us. This paflion 
affects in various manners and degrees. Like 
every other paffion, its fource is natural and 
pure, and it is only in its deviations that it be- 
comes vicious. 

Seneca, who, upon this fubjccl is to be care- 
fully ftudied, fays, that Anger propofes revenge 
or punifhment. But as I take it in its mofl Am- 
ple fignification, to be that flate of the mind 
when it is affected by an offending object, I con- 
ceive the difpofition to revenge or punifhment, is 
only to be imputed to it in fome of its varieties. 
It is not unufual to be angry with a perfon, 
whom far from intending to punifh, or to in- 
jure in any degree, we would guard from the 
flighted pain. 

It is an involuntary emotion, indicating difap- 
probation ; and it is fo, I underfland, that we may 
be angry without fin. As an uneafy emotion, it 

IT 2 might 



292 ANGER. [FART III* 

might be the boaft of the old philofophy to fub- 
due it entirely ; but I doubt whether it would be 
true wifdom ; for, as its tendency is to prevent 
future offence, the manifeftaiion of it may, by 
deterring provocations, correct the faults of 
others. In one point of view. Anger appears 
amiable, when it is provoked by any act tending 
to the injury of virtue. Whoever, without com- 
parative exultation, is iincerely angry at v' . 
giver, a proof of goodnefs, and his anger will be 
mingled with a degree of fcorn, which, in ibmc 
meafure, by degrading the object, relieves the pain 
of the emotion. This fpecies of A 

INDIGNATION. 

What a beautiful fubjeft for the can v 

this pure emanation of the paflion afford ! ;; Be- 
te," laid Olivia to her pretended lover, on 
ovcring the impurity of his views, " j 

mail fee me no more. I am grateful to 

for having g I my heart again ft the viilai 

to de(pi Throw this emotion into a love- 

ly face and a graceful form, contrail it with the 
feducer, fmirh your work with a malterly hand, 
and you may pL ir picture beiide the molt 

interefting pieces of art 

So far this paflion proves at once the teiumony 
and guard of virtue, and appears to have been 
implanted in us for thofe purpofes. It is both 
ufeful and beautiful ; and therefore, the e.adi- 

cation 



PART III.] ANGER. 293 

cation of it fhould not, by any means, be in- 
* eluded in the fyflem of ethics. 

tkre a caution naturally occurs, not to give 
way readily to anger againft any one, on the re- 
prefentation of others, with the purity of whotc 
teftimony we are not thoroughly fatisfied. The 
hope of exciting indignation and thereby of vili- 
fying character, is the food of flander;* that 
monfler, engendered at the bottom of the fouleft 
currents of a deviated and vicious paffion. ". he 
tongue that traduces, and the heart that eaffiy 
yields its anger to an uncertain tale, are inftru- 
ments that are made the fcourge of virtue, and 
which clog her fleps in her progrefs to hea- 
ven. 

I have mentioned Anger as merely indicative of 
difapprobation, or attended with fcorn ; but not 
as accompanied with resentment : which I 
judge to be, not a fimple manifestation of Anger, 
but an active propenfity to put the offender to 
confulion, for individual gratification : and here 
the paffion begins to deviate. I mould be forry 
to think, that the pJeafure of piwijlinwit was natu- 
ral to the mind, however common it may be 
found. The fbvereign contempt of the ftoics, or 
rather, the mild forbearance of chriftianity, — for 
ftoicifm is apathy,— feems more congenial to the 
nature of our race. Punifhment cannot be the 
gratification of a noble mind ; it is fimply a duty, 
and a very painful one. It may be a duty to 

U 3 ourfelves, 



294 ANGER. [PART III. 

ourfelves, to our family, to our friends, or to fo- 
ciety ; but if any one find a pleaiure in it, let 
him fuipecl: his fpirit to have fwerved from its 
conililution, and to be now molt vitiated and 
depraved. 

The clown, whofe quarrels are decided by his 
fifts or his cudgel, is impelled by a brutal in- 
{tincl ; and the courtier, who ufes his piftol or 
his fword, facriflces to a point of honour. The 
former would be afliamed but to think of way- 
laying his adverfary, and the latter politely re- 
queits him to take the firft mot. Thefe refeat- 
ments arife, in a great meafure, from the lavs 
felf-prefervati >n, and are com o lv unpreme- 
ditated : but it is the part of n an - > reg .. ite his 
finer inflincts, and wholly (\ coarilr 

ones. His refentments arc rati od] r- 

Imps indifpen fable, when they tend to the fan: re 
prevention of crimes, of injuries, or of infultg ; 
but are coarfe inltincts when flowing from the 
precipitation of the blood. As for the impulfe 
which mitigates men to draw their fwords in 
Angle combat, it appears to me, that nineteen 
duels out of twenty, are fought chiefly in order 
to fupport the reputation of perfonal courage, 
which is neceilary to the character of a gentleman, 
and that its effect* may be traced more lrequently 
to Pride than to Anger. 

But Kefentment, fo far as it leads only to re- 
paration, when that can be obtained by moral 

means, 



PART III.] ANGER. 29.5 

means, is natural, and thence arifes pleafure ; 
but not from the punifhment of the offender ; 
for, when a good man fays he is glad to hear that 
a villain has been punifhed, the gladnefs he ex- 
prefTes, does not confift in the thought of the 
pain the villain has furrered, but of the reparation 
that has been made to individuals, or the beaefit 
that has accrued to fociety. 

We cannot, however, watch Refentment too 
clofely, for befides that it is a mixture of pride, 
it forms an efFential part of a deeper deviation of 
the paffion of Anger — it is the corner ftone of 
Revenge. 



Sect. II. Revenge. 

REVENGE is that degree of Anger that rankles 
at the heart, and breeds malignity and vengeance. 
It returns injury for injury— it goes further, it 
fets no bounds to its vengeance, and, like mif- 
placed Ambition, refufes no means that offer to 
gratify it. Is Revenge a natural paffion ? If fo 
it is not a deviation, and I lofe my aim in fup- 
porting the original purity of all the paffions. 

I conceive it to be a maxim that our judgment 
concerning the nature of any thing is to be form- 
ed from its perfect flate. Mufic is the perfect 
harmony of founds : an apple is the perfect fruit 
of a certain tree : — now, though mufic and ap- 

U 4 pies 



296 ANGER. [PART HI, 

pies may be bad, yet if we do not judge of them 
as they are good, we fhall form a wrong notion of 
thek natures. Nor does the preponderance of 
quantity fignify : a lingle chord fhows harmony 
to be the nature of mufic, and one good apple is 
proof that the tree would naturally bear others, 
were it not from fame extrinfic caufe. By the 
fame rule we are to form our judgment of the 
heart. If we meet with revengeful men in the 
world, we, alfo, meet with men endowed with a 
forgiving benevolence, and we have only to ef- 
tablifh which is the more lovely in the light of 
God ; that which is lovely mult be the perfec- 
tion, and the other mud be degeneracy. The 
inference is, that Revenge is not natural to the 
breaft of man, but a degeneracy arifing from 
thofe myfterious extrinfic caufes which have 
given birth to other evils that have invaded the 
earth. 

However myflerious the caufe, it is evident that 
human nature has received a hurt ; for as dif 
cannot be the natural ftate of the body, vice can- 
not be that of the mind ; and we may lay it 
down as a rule that whatever is not lovely, is not 
in its origin natural ; for virtue may be called the 
health of the foul. Of the nature of incorporeal 
fpirits w r e can fay little, except from analogy ; but 
if there are beings that can deliberately return 
evil for good, there mull be fuch fpirits as devils ; 
xf there are beings that return good for evil, there 

muft 



PART III.] ANGEB, 297 

mull: be angels. The nature of man, as we ha\c 
feen in the article of Ambition, is to afpire : 
every return of evil finks him towards the diabo* 
lical ftandard ; every act of good exalts him ; 
and in proportion as he is fuperior to the defire of 
retaliation, he approaches the original purity of 
his nature. 

There is an action related of the unfortunate 
Savage, the ion of the cruel lady Macclesfield, 
which does honour to the world, and fets the 
principle of forbearance ina'ftrong light. He 
had been brought to a trial, on the iffiie of which 
his lite depended. A woman, who had been pre- 
fent at the tranfaction for which he was tried, and 
who was fulpecled to be fuborned by his unna- 
tural mother, was produced as an evidence, and 
fwore roundly again ft him ; the jury gave a ver- 
dict of guilty, but the prerogative of the crown 
was exerted, and Savage was faved. Some time 
afterwards he accidentally found this woman in 
the deepeft diftrefs ; and afforded her the imme- 
diate relief fhe wanted, by giving her the half of 
the only guinea he had in the world, accompa- 
nied with a very gentle rebuke for her conduct' 
towards him : compare this with the profcribing 
fpirit of the Triumviri, on the overturn of the 
Roman Commonwealth, and your fenfations will 
decide upon it. 

Are we, then, tamely to fubmit t;o injuries and 
to infults^ and to fufFer villainy and arrogance to 

triumph ? 



298 ANGER. [PART III. 

triumph ? By no means. Our very peace fre- 
quently depends upon mowing that we will refift: 
but spirit differs widely from Revenge* Some 
offences deferve only our fcorn ; while to prevent 
the confequences of others, it is our duty to 
bring the offender to puniihment ; but puni fo- 
ment properly underftood is the remit of juftice; 
not of vengeance. It is the province of sptrit 
to fecure dignity to virtue by genuine anger, by 
animated refinance, and reproof; not to enjoy 
a malignant delight from the effects of reta- 
liation. 



Sect. III. Rage. 

RAGE is the extreme of the paiTion, breaking 
tumultuoufly over its bounds. It is both dis- 
graceful and dangerous. It overwhelms the fa- 
culties, and impels to the commiifion of ab- 
furdities and horrors. Alexander ftabbing Cli- 
tus for not flattering him, is a full comment. 
In its exceffes it approaches to madnefs, and is 
termed fury. 



Sect. IV. Fretfulmfs. 

FRETFULNESS is a frequent tendency to 
a flight degree of Anger, on trivial occaiions. 
Peevifhnefs and petulance are fynonimous to it. 



PART III.] ANGER. 299 

This difpofition, if not criminal, is extremely un- 
amiable, as it tends to interrupt the pleafure of 
our afibciates. 

Sect. V. Morofmefs. 

MOROSENESS is an habitual difpofition to 
be angry or dii'pleafed, on all occafions. It is 
lefs active than its brotlier fullennefs, which is apt 
to growl a little more. / 

Sect. VI. Hajlinefs, and Sullenutfi. 

THERE are two other deviations of this paf- 
fion, the oppofite of each other, Hastiness and 
Sullenness. Haflinefs is quick anger, riles 
foon, and is foon difpelled ; and fo far it has the 
advantage over the other irregularities of anger : 
but it is neverthelefs dangerous, and leads to mi in- 
takes that are attended with fhame. Sullen nefs is 
an obftinate prolongation of petty anger, it preys 
upon the heart of the angry per ion, and is very 
difgufting to every obferver. 



CHAPTER 



( 300 ) 



CHAPTER Hi. 

ANTIPATHY, OR AVERSION, 

Sect. I. lis Varieties and DeviatiGfit. 

ANTIPATHY, or Ave rs an emcr 

produced by a natural and infurmountable repug- 
nance to ibme things. It is the refeife of S^ m- 
pathy, which is that affection of the mind, by 
which we are interested in objects from fome na- 
tural fimilarity. We may conjecture, that, pr'or 
to the introduction of evil, the lenfation of aver- 
lion was univerfally unknown : but no fooner was 
there an idea or perception to which the term of- 
fensive could be applied, than it became natural. 
We feel a natural repugnance to pain, to feti ! 
fmells, to naufeous drugs, to harm and dilcordant 
founds, to horrid objects — and good minds feel 
no lefs repugnance to vice. Thus far the pariion 
runs pure, and keeps its bounds. But, as 
provoked by what is diflimilar, it follows, alas ! 
that corrupt hearts will have antipathies to what 
is good : as there are fome difeafes of the body, 
in which the pureft viands become loathfome, and 
the appetite craves only train. 

Sect. II. Hatred. 



FART III.] ANTIPATHY. 301 



Sect. II. Hatred. 

WITH Antipathy, Hatred is clofely con- 
nected ; and can hardly be laid to branch from 
it, while excited through the organs of corporeal 
fenfation, or by the proper objects of intellectual 
deteflation ; the fixed hatred we feel to pain on 
the one hand, and to wickednefs on the other, 
are well-founded and natural antipathies, but at 
the point where Hatred joins Malevolence a 
deviation takes place, and boundlefs devaluation 
enfues. 

As we are aware of the influence of habits, and 
know that the ftrongeft reafon is generally worried 
by thole ilurdy tyrants ; it is the indifpenfable 
duty of the guardians of young minds, to fortify 
them with fuch as enlift on the fide of nature ; 
and to plant the weightier! artillery they are 
matters of, againit all thofe that are her enemies. 
In the prefent flate of things, the true objects of 
Hatred and of Lqve may, as children grow up, be 
eafily misconceived, and habitual antipathies be 
rhiftaken for natural repugnances. Mr. Pennant, 
in his Zoology, has given a curious hiftory of a 
toad, to fhew that the prejudice which cuftom has 
excited againft that inoffenfive animal, is ill-found- 
ed : and, I think, it will appear, that fuch di Hikes 
are ufually bequeathed, as the defects of the per~ 
fon are not uncommonly tranfmitted from lire to 

m 



30$ ANTIPATHY. [pARTIII. 

fon. Of the tribe of habitual antipathies, I fhall 
only obferve, that they are of themfelves the ob- 
jects of a jufl odium ; and particularly after that 
period of life, when we are fuppofed to have placed 
ourfelvcs under the dominion of reafon. 

Hatred, when it deviates from the natural re- 
pugnance of antipathy and is directed towards 
perfons inftead of things, is generally accompanied 
with ill-will, and is a deplorable palTion. If Love 
be the mo ft delightful emotion, what muft Ha- 
tred be, which is its reverfe ? I admit the diffi- 
culty of attaining the celeftial perfection of loving 
an enemy ; but fo painful is Malevolence, that 
the wonder is, how any well-diipofed mind can 
give it room. We may be difpleafed, angry, and 
fornetimes bound to relent ; but from the malig- 
nity of Hatred the boiom of man muft be free, 
or he muft be milerable. Yet, how many are 
flaves to this paffton ! What trifles become caufes 
of the moil inveterate animofities ! It generally 
invades the bread that is already the prey of Pride, 
or of Envy ; and, fad to tell ! thole who cultivate 
virtues and talents are too often doomed to be its 
objects. Let not him, however, who defires to 
be beloved, and finds himfelf frequently difap- 
pointed, be difmayed ; let him deferve to be be- 
loved, let him covet only the love of amiable 
minds, and if he find but one fmcere and affection- 
ate friend, let him bleis God for his ihare, and 
patiently lubmit to the averfion of fordid fpirits. 

Rancour 



PART III.] ANTIPATHY. 303 

Rancour is a fixed malignant degree of Ha- 
tred : and Spite is the mifchievous hatred of a 
paltry mind. 

Sect". III. Mtfatithropy. 

MISANTHROPY is a hatred of the human 
race generally. That man mould be man-hater 
is furely unnatural ; yet the Mifanthrope has 
Something to fay for himfelf. He is ufually a 
difappointed philofopher ; one who has fet out 
in fearch of the virtues, but has unfortunately 
Humbled over crimes and vices. A race of hard- 
ened criminals, of beings felfifli and "infenfible, 
muft be odious ; fuch has he found thofe with 
whom he has mixed ; fuch has he read of in the 
hiflory of his fpecies ; fuch he judges the whole 
mafs of mortals, and detefls them. His own frail- 
ties he has found magnified, and his virtues dif- 
regarded ; while gold, almighty gold, is fet upon 
the altar, and every man bends his knee to the 
mafly god. 

This is the fpecious ground of the Mifanthro- 
piil, from which I think it is not difficult to dis- 
lodge him, and to drive him to his citadel of 
Pride or of Envy. The envious are confiftently 
Mifanthropes, for it is their nature to deteft every 
fuperior. The proud, even where their pride is 
of the the purefl kind, arifing from the confciouf- 
nefs of virtue and of talents^ are apt to expect a 

deference 



304 CURTOSlTr. fpART 11T 

deference from all mankind : but as all mankind 
are in puriuit of their own happinefs, it is poffible 
for many in the hurry and buftle of the purfuit, 
to forget to include in their attention fome who 
deferve it. The proud man, who places his. blifs 
on the refpect of the world, will hate them for 
their neglecl ; whereas, the genuine philofopher, 
who has made up his happinefs within himftlf* 
expects no homage, and fees not the faults of 
mankind with hatred, but with concern. He 
mingles with men for their fakes more than for 
his own ; and ten to one he rinds among them, or 
makes, fome amiable countenances, and fympa- 
thetic hearts, tofeaft and rejoice his foul. 



CHAPTER 1\ 
CURIOSITY. 

Sect. I. Its Varieties and Deviations. 

V^URIOSITY is one of the paflions with which 
Nature fpurs on mankind in the road of knowledge. 
Hence proceed the many improvements we have 
made for die ufe, the ornament, and the conve- 

niency 



J>ART III.] CURIOSITY. 305 

niency of our fpecies, by which our welfare and 
happinefs are confiderably encreafed, and human 
knowledge extended fo far beyond that of any 
other animal upon this globe. Curiofity is the 
defire of being informed ; its object is novelty. 
It is a principle which very early difcovers itfelf 
in the infant mind, and in that ftate cannot be 
too diligently watched, or too cautiouily directed. 
Although in an advanced ftate of the underfland- 
ing, innocence and ignorance are very different 
qualities ; in the early progrefs of the intellect, 
the latter may often protect the former. This 
paffion is of a craving nature, and will, if poffible, 
be fatisfied : if it find not wholefome food, it will 
feed upon tram ; and therefore to fupply it pro- 
perly, is one of the fecrets of education, by which 
an able and refpectable tutor expedites his talk in 
the improvement of his pupil, and affords that 
knowledge which is the wholefome food of 
Curiofity. 

Sect* II. Futile Curiofity. 

FUTILE Curiosity is a deplorable imbeci- 
lity of the heart* You fhall fee goffips thrufting. 
their nofes into every filthy corner, to fee what is 
lying there, merely for the pleafure of imparting 
the important difcovery to a neighbour goffip. 

But filthy and contemptible as is Futile Curio- 
fity, it is lovelinefs itfelf when compared to Bis- 

X HONOURABLE 



306 FEAR. [PART lit. 

honourable Curiosity. Obtaining infonm- 
tion by unwarrantable and bafe means, prying 
into fecrets, liftening in private, opening letters 
or peeping into them, and attempting to corrupt 
and lift thofe in whom confidence has been placed 
are ftrong proofs of a degraded nature. 



CHAPTER V. 
FEAR. 

Sect. I. Its Varieties and Deviations, 

i? EAR may be defined, a painful emotion im- 
preflcd upon the mind by the perception, or con- 
ception, of any kind of danger. A perfon enjoy- 
ing the utmoft tranquillity, fhall, by a (light turn 
of the head, be thrown into the moit tumultuous 
perturbation. You tire walking alone in the 
fields, and calmly enjoying the ferenity of the 
weather : you have gone paft a ityle, and before 
you perceive it are half over a meadow, where si 
large bull is grazing : your eyes unexpectedly 
meet his, in which you difcover a favage iierce- 
nels ; the wild monfter rounds his neck and moves 

tov. 



PART Itl»] FEAR. 307 

towards you ; lie bellows, he quickens his pace. 
The fight, by the inexplicable magic of nature, 
throws your blood into quicker circulation ; your 
eyes dilate, your heart palpitates, and your limbs 
tremble ; your mind is affected and put into 
great commotion : the commotion of the mind is 
paffion, and the paffion you now feel is Fear. 
Again, a beloved perfon lies dangerouily ill : you 
think of the probability of death ; your mind is 
agitated by the thought : this agitation is alfo the 
paffion of Fear, but it is the Fear fet in motion 
by imagination ; for your friend recovers. 

This is a paffion that pervades animated nature, 
and, as it refpecls perfonal fafety, is im1inc"tive ; 
being one of the guards of felf-prefervation. I 
believe that the mod courageous and furious mon- 
gers are fufceptible of it, if taken unawares ; but, in 
men, there are many inftances of a conftitutional 
intrepidity, that has fet it at defiance. When a 
ball burft through the ceiling of an apartmeat, 
where Charles XII. was dictating to his fe- 
cretary, the latter involuntarily laid dow r n his 
pen ; the king, unmoved, afked what he meant, 
and ordering him to relume it, continued coolly 
to dictate. I do not apprehend that Charles's 
courage was that amiable valour, which is con- 
fident with the finer feelings of the heart, but 
rather a wonderful infenfibility that excites admi- 
X 2 ration, 



30* FEAR. [p ART ,„. 

ration, unmixed with either efteem or affection. 
He was the 

'< Unconquer'd lord of pleafure and of pain." 

TJ. at noble prefence of mind which is attained 
by furveying danger on every fide, and preparing 
to oppofe it, is the refult of habit rather than the 
gift of nature, and diftingui flies the hero from the 
madman. The king of Sweden would have taken 
a bull by the horns, and been gored to death, 
foonerthan have thought of caftinghis cloke over 
them, to blind the animal and fecure his retreat. 
This is evidently a paifion as natural to the hu- 
man race as to all other creatures, and he who 
does not obey its dictates, to fecure his perfonal 
fafety, when he may do ib without prejudice to 
his virtues. acts not as he ought to do. 

Fear is not Cowardice, but Cowardice is 
vitiated Fear. The emotion that I lay is natural, 
is not the timidity of a hare, but the alarm of a 
Hon ; it is the mftinct that warns him of danger. 
To avoid danger ignobly is not the characteristic 
of man. He is not a timid animal, and all the 
fear he knows is readily dillipnted by his liner 
paflions and his virtues. Friendship, love, gra- 
titude, pit v, honour, patriotifm, are beams that 
difpel the terrors which envelope pain and death, 
and danger then becomes the iunihine of his 
exigence. 

But 



PART III.] PEAR. 309 

But perfonal fafery is, perhaps, the narroweft 
province in which the dominion of this paffioii is 
exerted. There are a thoufand real goods, and 
ten thoufand imaginary ones, which in defiring to 
obtain, we dread to lofe. And there is a multi- 
tude of evils, the anticipation of which creates the 
agitations of Fear. Thefe anxieties refpecting 
uncertain events are fome of the chief fources of 
mifery ; and it is the part of wifdom to fubdue or 
regulate them. Such as tend to awaken forefight, 
and to inftil prudence, are by no means to be re- 
prefTed, but rather reduced, as nearly as poffible, 
to. calm meditation ; while the perturbation that 
arifes from idle and ill-founded apprehenfions, 
about events not effentially concerned in the real 
interefrs of happinefs, mould be difcarded, as 
unworthy the bofbm of a rational creature. 

Sect. II. Terror. 

TERROR is excefs of Fear : and it is alfo the 
term given to the paffion when thrown upon the 
mind by the agency of Sympathy ; to which I 
refer it. 



Sect. III. Horror. 

HORROR is produced when Terror is ac- 
companied with deteftation. The action of Vir- 
ginius,.in ftabbing his daughter, produces Ter- 
X 3 ror ; 



310 FEAR. [PARTITA 

ror ; it was an act of exalted virtue : the action of 
Alexander, in ftabbing Clytus, produces Horror ; 
it was a deteftable action. The murder of Dun- 
can is doubly horrible ; for it was perpetrated 
by him, 

"Who 'gainft his murderer fhould Lave {hut the door, 
Not borne the knife himfelf." 

Whatever is againft nature produces Horror ; 
becaufe, to natural beings it muit be deteftaule. 

Sect. IV. A'jce. 

AWE is almoft the reverie of Horror, being a 
degree of Fear accompanied with, or ra^er pro- 
ceeding from Reverence. What notions of Terra 
accompany the contemplation of unlimited power ! 
When we lift ourfelves above, and confider the 
world on which we tread as a great ball, twirled 
through a fpace at the rate of near 70,000 miles 
an hour ; how terrible does it appear to the ima- 
gination, and how infupport.ible would it be to 
the fenfes, were they not adapted to the confines 
of the atmolphere ! The Terror Co produced is 
changed into Awe, when with unlimited power 
we combine the thought of unlimited goodnefs. 
We know that the power of God could unhinge, 
and annihilate the fyftem : we know, alfo, that his 
goodnefs is the fource of felicity ; and whether 
felicity be ultimately affected by a continuation of 

this 



PART III.] FEAR. 311 

this globe, ar by its dcftrucYion, the mind refts in 
fecurity on Omnipotence, in which it cannot be 
deceived. Its appreheniions are mingled with 
gratitude and with admiration ; and terror is loft 
in love and in awe. 

A degree of Awe is juftly infpired by very emi- 
nent and virtuous characters. Bat the fenfation of 
uneafinefs which is felt by fome minds, in the com- 
pany of men diftinguifhed for birth or wealth, is 
not Awe, though often termed fo ; for it may 
poflibly be mingled with contempt or indigna- 
tion ; neither of which can be blended with the 
deference of refpedl. It is rather the fecret an- 
guifh of pride. 

The reverence attached to places devoted to 
worfhip, and especially when aided by the fubli- 
mity of magnitude, and the folemnity of the ap- 
propriate architecture, will alfo excite this emo- 
tion. We naturally have a refpect and affection 
for whatever belongs to, or is connected with, one 
we love or revere : if fo, the refpect for places of 
worfhip mould be univerfal, and the violation 
of them be held a breach of the law of Nature. 
Perhaps I mould have faid of Religion ; but as I 
allude only to human nature, I think the phrafe 
juftified ; for were I to define man, I fhould cer- 
tainly not omit his religious propenfity in my 
definition. 

X4 Sect.V. Com 



312 FEAR. [PART III. 

Se c t . V. Cowardice. 

COWARDICE deviates from natural Fear; 
and is that torrent of the paffion which neither 
Honour, Virtue, nor Religion, can ftem. No 
man b contemptible for fhunning danger; but 
to feek perfonal fafety at the expence of any no- 
ble mark of nature ; to be fo frozen to life, or to 
eafe, that the beams of the better paflions cannot 
warm the blood into that genial flow of courage, 
which is given to man for the protection of his 
juft happinefs, both individual and facial, and 
for thefupport of his dignity ; is indeed a vile and 
contemptible degradation of Wear. 

Cowardice includes not only the fear cf 
death, but the apprehenfion of any dilad van- 
tage whatever, which it fcruples not to avoid, by 
means vicious or difhonourable. I would not be 
underftood to allude particularly to dwelling; 
which I have already flightly mentioned : the 
avoiding of a duel may, or may not, be Cow- 
ardice, according to the circumftances attending 
it ; and it may be even bravery ; but Cowardice 
is generally the want of that courage, which true 
Honour, Virtue, or Religion, mould infpire. 

Sect. VI. Timid > 

TIMIDITY is a difpolition to be eafily fright- 
wed, or alarmed; but it has noaffinity to Cow- 
ardice, 



PART III.] HOPE. 313 

ardice, for it is not inconfiftent witli Honour and 
Virtue ; nay, it is lbmetimes amiable, as in the 
fair lex, when not carried to an abfurdity ; but 
it cannot be laudable in men, as it is a want of 
firmnefs. 



CHAPTER VI. 
HOPE. 

Sect. I. Its Varieties and Deviations. 

JL HIS panacea of the foul, if not the moft 
lively, is the moft flattering emotion of the mind. 
It is raifed by contemplating the probability of 
attaining a defirable good : the probability, how- 
ever, being fuch as to leave the event in fome 
fufpence ; for the nearer we approacli to certainty, 
the nearer is the deftruction of Hope : when we 
no longer doubt, we no longer hope. 

Hope has been long confidered as in pofTefiion 
of the beft anchor for the voyage of life : .and on 
a fea fo fpread with fhoals, where the weather 
often proves too boifterous for the pilot, it is 
happy for us, that me is ever ready to can: an- 
chor 



314 HOPE- [part IIT, 

chor and to keep us from total wreck, till 
gentler gales fucceed to waft us to the fhore of 
blifs, to which we fhape our courfe. So far 
Hope is friendly, is rational, and we may with 
confidence engage her in our fervice. He that 
hopes wifely will feldom have his expectations 
balked ; or if balked, the difappointment itfelf 
will prove the foundation of ftill better hope. 

Sect. II. Chimerical Hope, 

CHIMERICAL Hope, however, mould be 
early brought under fubjection, and the mind 

ight to reject all thofe vifionary fchemes of ima- 
ginary joys and advantages, with which the brain 
of inexperienced youth is too apt to be infefted. 
Much grief, error, and difappointment would be 
prevented, if care were taken in youth to regulate 
the imagination ; which, employed properly, is 
a valuable and delightful faculty ; but miiem- 
ployed, leads to difcontent, to horrors, and to 
madne is. 

The nature of life, its extent, its enjoyments, 
fiiould be clearly difplayed. What ought to be 
hoped, what may reasonably be hoped, and 
what it would be folly to hope, or ibme of 
the mofl ferious confiderations of education ; 
and it is the indifpenfable talk of every parent 
and guardian, to imprefs them early on thofe 
minds that are committed to their care. He who 

is 



PART III/} JOY. 315 

is left to purfue through life hopes that are not 
likely to be realized, will travel from ftage to 
fb'ge of mifery, and conclude his journey in de- 
fpair : whereas he who hopes rationally prepares 
for difappointment, and extends his views be- 
yond the temporary relays of fublunary expec* 
tation : 

Sperat infeftis, metuit fecundis 
Alteram fortem bene preparation 
Pectus. Horace. 



CHAPTER VII. 
JOY. 

Sect. I. Its Varities and Deviations. 

J OY is the emotion felt on happy occurrences. 
It is always a delightful, and, when excited by 
proper events, an amiable paffion. It is in fome 
degree difguftful to obfervers when riling from 
trivial and low caufes, or when it appears im- 
moderate ; for, in the former inftance, it is the 
mark of weaknefs \ and in the latter, it borders 

upon 



316 JOY. [PART III. 

upon exultation. Till the understanding 
however, has had time to ripen, It is otherwife ; 
for it is never difgufting in children. When Joy 
is the effecl of the happinefs of others, it is the 
mofl amiable of the pailions. It is the reverie of 
envy ; and as that has been called a diabolical,, 
this may be termed a celefual paflion. 

Sect. II. Chearfulnefs. 

CIIEARFULNESS is a mild, even Joy, not 
called forth on any uncommon occafion, but pro- 
ceeding from a fmooth tenour of life, and from \ 
mind that is not a flave to any of its paffions. [t -> 
chief foes are vice and misforcune ; there cat, 
beany kind of true Joy, where there is vice, and 
where there is virtue, even misfortune may be 
borne with a degree of chearful patience. 

Sect. III. Mirth. 

MIRTH is a talkative kind of Joy, ufually at- 
tended with laughter, and is the natural refult of 
man's fociable difpofition. If it flow from genu- 
ine fpirits, from true wit, or comic humour, it 
is a defirable emotion ; but False spirits ficti- 
tioufly procured, the noife of infective laughter, 
and the turbulent merriment of wine, are joys ill 
fuited to noble minds. 

Sect. IV. M- 



PART III.] JOY. 317 

• Sect. IV. Malignant Joy. 

THAT there fhould be a deviation of thisPaffion, 
and that a very foul one, befpeaks the fad depth 
of depravity to which the human foul may fink. 
All malignant pleafure, all malevolent delight, if 
pleafure and delight they can be, diverge fb 
abruptly and fo oppofitely to the pure fburce of 
Joy, that we can fcarcely be led to trace them 
thither. I am inclined to think that we con- 
found terms in giving complacent phrafes to fen- 
fations produced by horrors, and to believe it im- 
poffible that the gratification enjoyed by vicious 
fpirits has the flighted claim to the difTinction of 
happinefs. Who for example, can allow the 
name of pleafure to be afTociated with cruelty, or 
grant to the heart of a tyrant the poffefiion of de- 
light ? Such, however, is the fiate of language, 
that very different perceptions and fenfations re- 
ceive the fame appellations; and he who triumphs 
at the torture of a fellow-creature has a lexico- 
phanic title to a word, fit only for the philanthro- 
pic bofom of a Howard. 

There is a ftimulus attending all the depraved 
Paffions, how or why arifing I pretend not now 
to enquire, which, for want of another word, per- 
haps for want of an appropriate idea, we call the 
pleafure of each. But he who reflects, cannot 
foil to obfejve, that there is no analogy whatever 

between 



318 JOY. [PART III. 

between the flimulus of a villain, and the blifs of 
a noble heart. 

Some of the common amufements of life appear 
to be attended with this depravity, though, in 
truth, it is otherwife. Hunting, fhooting, and 
flfhing, to a nervous habit of body, andtoafcru- 
pulous delicacy of mind, feem to be cruel fports. 
The weakneis and difproportion of the animals 
purfued, the fpilling of their blood, the agonies 
of death, and the deprivation of life, take the 
fhape of horrors to a tender heart : but when re- 
flexion afTures us that they are proper food, when 
obfervation has fhown the means of obtaining 
them to be curious, and habit has rendered it 
agreeable ; when we find the exercife conducive 
to health, and are confeious that we are not of- 
fending the Creator, the idea of cruelty vanifhes, 
and we find thefe diverfions confonant to reafon 
as well as pleafing to our fcnfations. I argue ge- 
nerally, however, and by no means intend to caft 
an imputation on the fcrupulous and tender heart, 
which, on the contrary, I own I prefer, admire, 
and love. 

All infliction of unneceflary pain for gratifica- 
tion ; the ftimulants of flander, of envy, and of 
every vitiated paflion, are the moft lamentable of 
all deviations ; and we can fcarcely trace them 
to the clear, and exquilite fountain of Joy. This 
obfeurity, however, is owing to the black ftreams 
of malignant emotions, that mingle with, and cor- 
rupt its purity* 

CHAPTER 



( 319 ) 

CHAPTER Vlir. 
LOVE. 

Sect. I. Its Varieties and Deviations. 

JLfO VE is that noble, genial, and warm affection 
of mind, excited by amiable objects, that, while 
it exalts the foul, communicates inexpreffible de- 
light to every part of the human frame. It is the 
foul of Virtue, " the divinity that ftirs within us," 
the grand enjoyment of fuperior natures, a great 
portion of which mankind is fuffered to parti- 
cipate : it was the fpring of creation, and con- 
tinues to fupport it. From this lburce an infinite 
variety of rtreams branches forth. It is piety, de- 
votion, philanthrophy, charity, benevolence, 
friendfhip; and, in fine, it is that Paffion peculiar 
to the human fpecies, which, from its fuperior 
livelinefs, obtains the every name of Love. On 
this paffion 1 will*fir(t make fome obfervations, and 
then proceed to the other branches that ftieam 
from the fource. 

Loyc then, in this view, is a paffion of the mind, 
exifting by the diftinction of fex, and is the 
emotion that is raifed by qualities in the object 

which 



320 love, [part III. 

which excite the highefl pleafurable fenfations. 
It is fometimes a pure, but oftener a mixed paffion. 
It is nobler when it is pure, but not culpable when 
it is mixed. In the former, the happinefs of its 
object is the highefl gratification ; in the latter, 
felfifh defires predominate. The mixed paffion is 
fo agreeable to the mixed nature of mankind, and 
fo attractive, that the purer being with difficulty 
diftinguifhable, becomes the object of fufpicion^ 
and indeed the exigence of it is nearly baniihed 
from the belief of polite fociety. 

That fufceptibility of our nature, which leads 
us to be pleated with objects at firft fight, cannot 
deferve the name of Love. An animated counte- 
nance graced with fmiles, a juft fymmetry of 
body, and a marked attention, cannot fail to en- 
gage the heart by the pleafure they give it; and 
though it be not Love may be its foundation. 
The further diicovcry of amiable qualities, and 
more particular attentions, produce the (parks, 
and fighs blow them to a iiame. But imagine this 
object, fo pleating at firft fight, to be a mere pic- 
ture, an outride ; the mind, on examination, rind- 
ing nothing beyond what ftruck the eye, cannot 
give room to a paffion : what glittered was a 
dying ember, and from the allies no flame can be 
produced. 

Beauty excites an emotion, but it is not Love : 
Love mutt fpring from Love ; that is to lay, kind- 
nefles, and unwavering attentions mud fore-run, 

and 



PART III.] LOVE. 321 

and prepare the neceffary fympathy. It is worthy 
of obfervation, that kindnefs and attention are ge- 
nerally concomitants of beauty, whereas fplcen and 
referve too often go hand in hand with deformity: 
fo comes it that it is ufually at the fhrine of the 
former that the heart is found devoted. When 
ordinary perfons create love, the triumph is that of 
amiable manners and the appearance of pleafing 
emotions. 

The instances that abound with lovers per- 
fevering in their courtfhip in defiance of rejection, 
or even in the face of avowed, diflike ; and a few 
examples of madnefs and of fuicide, may appear 
to difprove the neceffity of a previous fympathy. 
But the pailion in thefe inftances mull have pro- 
ceeded originally in its ufual train, and fome fub- 
fequent turn muft have been the caufe of the 
hopelefs perfeverance, the madnefs or fuicide ; 
for it is by no means contended that Love is al- 
together a voluntary paffion, and that the heart 
can love, or not love, as the will or reafon fhall 
direct. An amiable object manife fling kindnefs 
may conquer the heart in fpite of all argument ; 
in which cafe the pafTion is involuntary ; and 
fhould any ferious obftacles arife in oppofition to 
it, to ftruggle with, and overcome it, becomes 
one of the mofl important, and moil difficult 
talks of virtue. The obftinate lover, who, to the 
beauty of his miftrefs adds the remembrance of 
fome kindnefs that had raifed a hope, will not 

Y cafily 



322 lOV*. [PART III. 

cafily fubdue that hope? The difappointed lover, 
who makes his pafTion the chief object of his 
imagination, will be apt to admit irregular ideas, 
and unregulated imagination is the field of mad- 
nefs. Melancholy and gloom lead to fuicide. 

With refpect to that precipitate kind of con- 
quer! of the heart told of in novels, called falling in 
Jove ; it cannot be allowed among intellectual 
beings : but, if ever it does take place, nuift be 
the effect, not the caufe, of madnefs ; and be 
nearly allied to that kind of derangement which a 
beggar betrays who falls in love with a princef*. 
A ftory is told of a celebrated comedian, that one 
night, after playing Fcl x in the Wonder, he was 
followed to his houfe by a middle aged ordinary 
woman, who defired to fpeak with him apart, laid 
Hie had three queftio.ns to aft him, and having 
obtained his promife to anfwer fincerely, lire 
requeued to know whether he was married or 
fingle ? He anfwered he was fingle. Was he en- 
gaged to any peribn ? He was not. Were his 
affections free ? Moil certainly. She thanked 
him, and he allowed her, at her earnefl lbl [cita- 
tion, to retire without further explanation. He 
laughed, and concluded that fome lady had fallen 
hi love with him ; tut a considerable time having 
pafled without his having heard of his incognita, 
the affair became myfterious. One evening, at a 
place of public amulcment, he recognized, in a 
party of ladies, the pcrion who had put the ques- 
tions 



PART III.] LOVE. 323 

tions to him. She endeavoured to avoid him, 
but emboldened by his curiofity, he addrelTed 
her : — " You mud certainly allow, Madam, that 
I have a right to put one queftion, at leaft, to you, 
and to expect: a fincere reply." " Certainly." 
" Pray then what was the motive of the quefHons 
you put to me, fince 1 was never more to hear 
from you ?" Her anfwer was > " A beautiful young 
woman of large fortune, whofe time had been 
chiefly fpent in the country, was at the theatre 
when you performed Don Felix, Hie was enrap- 
tured, fell in love with you, and directed me to 
put thofe queftions. While fhe was contriving 
the means of forming an acquaintance with you, 
the bills announced your appearance in the cha^ 
racier of Scrub. She faw you, and was cured of 
her paffion : fhe could have united herfelf to a 
Felix, but not to a Scrub." If this anecdote be 
true, the lady, beyond a doubt, had, by the magic 
of fancy, transferred all the fondnefs of Felix for 
Violante to herfelf; and fhe was much obliged to 
Scrub for teaching her the folly of falling in love. 
And fo doubtlefs it will ever be : the lady who 
falls in love, and finds not the man her imagina- 
tion has painted in the object of her caprice, for 
caprice it is, not love, will look elfewhere, and 
turn with contempt from the worthlefs thing that 
made her heart vibrate for a moment. To purfue 
the metaphor : Love is not the melody but the 
Y 2 harmonv 



\ 



324 LOVE. [PART lit. 

harmony of minds — not that pleafant modulation 
of fuccefiiye tones that catches the ear, but the 
full united vibration of concords that fwells the 
heart to rapture. 

This is the Love which both fides of our na- 
ture, intellectual and animal, heighten into in- 
exprefTible blifs. Separate intellect from animal, 
nnd the former will be that pure Love alluded to 
in the beginning of this EfTay, but the latter will 
not be Love at all. 

Let us, however, remember, that we are formed 
for a more certain, and a moie lading happinefs 
than this mixed paflion, how cxquifite i'oever it 
be ; that we are formed for that blifs which arifes 
from pure affection, and for the enjoyment of 
continuing through endlefs ages to heap know- 
ledge upon knowledge. Love, whether wholly 
pure or mixed, is afiuredly grateful to the Author 
of all good, who thought proper to fafhion us as 
we are, a compound of two natures. It i> clearly 
our bufinefs on earth to exalt ourlelves to our 
fuperior relationihip : and real love will never 
prove a clog to the exaltation of the etherial prin- 
ciple. 

ft will not be improper to conclude this Section 
with fame maxims arid aphorifms for the fervice 
of the fair fex, which if impreiled upon their 
minds, may prove of the higheft importance to 
the riling generation— and, therefore, deierve to 

be 



PART III.] LOVE. 325 

be called the Golden Rules op Love. Let 
them be got by heart, and quoted by both fingle 
and married. 



Gplden Rules of Love. 

THE virtues are necefTary to Love, and the 
more they are exerted the more are its delights 
encreafed. 

As general kindnefs is necefTary to the charac- 
ter of a good difpofition, and is alfo the avenue 
to Love, there the barrier ought to be kept. The 
man who offers unufual kindnefs rings for further 
admiflion. On this alarum a good girl will con- 
fider two things, the one for her own fake ; 
namely, what are the virtues and accompliiW 
ments of this man ? the other for his fake ; fhall 
fhe give birth to a hope me is likely to difap- 
point ? Continue at the barrier and no harm can 
enfue. 

Though it behoves every young woman to be 
cautious from whom ihe receives kindnefs, and 
by no means to admit any particular mark of it 
from a man of whofe character fhe is ignorant . 
on the other hand, let her not be backward in a 
general interchange of regard with all liberal men 
of her acquaintance. 

When the barrier is palled, happinefs is placed 
in a critical fituation. A man of fenfibility wil[ 

Y 3 not 



326 LOVE, [PART III. 

not rifle a refufal ; much lefs will a delicate wo- 
man commit herfelf. Here nature has eftablifh^ 
ed a mode of intelligence, by which the moil 
fcrupulous may underftand each other, and this is 
the fympatiiy prepared by kindnefs. 

When the pailion is afcertained to be mutually 
agreeable, it is the part of the man to be oftenfibly 
the courtier of a happinefs, which both are fatis- 
fied is reciprocally coveted. 

The allurements to Love, are Virtue, Beauty, 
and Accomplifhments, uniting with Kindnefs. 

The emotion that is excited by certain intel- 
ligible movements of the eye is not Love. Yet 
the eyes fpeak its moft harmonious periods. 

Infat nation is not in the vocabulary of Love. 
To infatuate fignifies to make foolifh ; the very 
reverie of Love, which refines and exalts. When 
it is laid — 

That women, born to be controul'd, 
Yield to the forward and the bold ; 

let it be remembered that Love is not under- 
ftood. — The fentiment is that of a libertine ex- 
prefTing his opinion of female frailty, and againft 
iuch an opinion. Love and Virtue ihould mu(Ur all 
their forces. 

The woman, who, having raifed hope in the 
bofom of a lover, ditappoints him without very 
good reafon, is a jilt ; a bale character. 

The 



PART III.] I.OVS, 367 

The man who ufes kindnefs to incite lymp N a- 
thy, and fympathy for the gratification of a] , 
tite, without reipect to love and honour, is a fe- 
ducer ; the bafeit of characters. 

The flame of Love, once railed, will burn long, 
if fanned by both its votaries, but will inevitably 
expire, if left to the care of one. 

Mutual conftancy, and unbounded confidence, 
are chief ingredients rn Love. 

A difpofition to gallantry is unfit for Love. 

Chaftity, by which is underftood the exclufive 
appropriation of perfon and inclination to the ob- 
ject of affection, is one of the chief props of 
Love, which, unfupported by it totters and falls. 

A woman cannot iincerely love the man to 
whofe infidelities fhq can be indifferent. 

Infidelities are injuries ; inattention is infult : 
they create the torture of jealoufy, and the pain of 
mortification. 

Jealoufy is faid to be attendant on Love. It 
may be fo ; but then it is only as difeafes are at- 
tendant on life — a good confiitution efcapes the 
one, and true love the other. 

A kifs is the link of union between mental af- 
fection, and animal fenfe ; it is at firft brittle, and 
needs the aid of a folemn engagement to fecure 
the chain entire. 

The end of Love is melioration of the heart, 
the invigoration of family affections, and the fe- 
curity of domeftic happinefs. 

Y 4 Having 



328 LOVE. [PART III. 

Sect. II. 

HAVING now particularly treated of the paffion 
as it exiits between the fexes, I ihall at prefent 
confine myfelf to throwing out fuch hints for con- 
sideration, as relate to the other branches of this 
divine emotion. And firft of 

Self -Jove. 

Self-love, is defined by Roche r oucault, to 
be the love of felf, and of every thing for its 
fake ; but, cc nullius addiclus jurarein verba ma- 
giftrt." I fhall take leave to define it, the love 
of felf for the pleafures which it is in the power 
of confeiotifnefs to beftbw. It has been generally 
underftood, that the opinions of that celebrated 
author, on this fuljed, have fixed an odium up- 
on the nature of man. It is no wonder that 
Swift, and others, who took pleafure in contem- 
plating the deformities and naufea of the world, 
fhould join in receiving and propagating the 
odium. Nature in corruption is all the nature 
they fee, and then 

As Rochefoucault his maxims drew 
From nature, they believe them true : 
They argue no corrupted mind 
In him"; the fault is in mankind. Swift. 

Rochefoucault and Swift were not among the 

feft 



PART III.] LOVE. 329 

firft difcoverers of the corruption that had taken 
place in man ; but they are among the foremofl 
who delight in making him fo corrupt, that even 
his virtues become contemptible. So much has 
been faid upon this famous topic, that it is hardly 
poilibie to throw it into any new light. Indeed, 
I think the whole queftion determined by a fingle 
fentenee of the author of the Maxims himielf. 
" Self love," fays he, " juft as it happens to be 
well or ill conducted, conftitutes virtue or vice." 
And what is this but faying, that the odium, or 
am'ability of felMove, depends upon the ftate of 
the mind ? All that can be granted to Roche- 
foucault is, that Self love is a bafe and deteflable 
principle in bafe and deteflable bofoms ; and we 
accept in turn his conceilion, that it is a genuine, 
pure, and amiable principle, in genuine, pure, and 
amiable breafls. He who loves virtue, becaufe it 
gives him pleafure, takes a pleafure in virtue ; 
the terms are convertible, and it is a play of 
words to fay we love every thing for the fake of 
Self-love. 

Self-love, in good minds, is more dependent 
upon the other affections, than thofe are upon 
this fuppofed primitm mobile of the heart, 

If it be faid, that there are more corrupt than 
genuine fpints, which, however, I am not inclined 
to admit, I anfwer as before, that the nature of 
any thing is not marked by irs quantity, but by 
its quality ; and that too the beft. 

Sect. III. 



330 LOV5. [pA*T m . 



Sect. III. Pride, Fain- glory, and Vanity, 

SELF-LOVE has its deviations, which it is our 
bufinefs to obferve, to avoid, and to float our 
bark down the genuine ftream. The chief vici- 
ous emotions that take their rife from itare, Pride, 
Vain-glory, Vanity, and Jealousy. 

Pride, as it teaches us to value ourfelves on 
qualities that really exalt us, and keep at due 
diftance thofe that really degrade us, is a nolle 
virtue ; but when it afiinulutes with arrogance 
and haughtinefs, it is vicious 2nd contemptible. 

Vain-glory is that value we derive from ipu-^ 
rlous caufcs, and vanity is an over-eager fclf-ap- 
probation, whether the caufe be jult or fpurious, 
important or trivial. 

But as to the principle by which we naturally 
either approve or difapprove of our own conduct, 
it feems to be altogether the fame with that by 
which we excrcife the like judgments concerning 
the conduct of other people. We either approve 
or difapprove of the conduct of another man ac- 
cording as we feel that, when we bring his cafe 
home to ourfelves, we either can or cannot en- 
tirely fympathize with the fcntiments and motives 
which directed it. And, in the fame manner, we 
either approve or difapprove of our own conduct, 
according as we feel that, when we place our- 
felves 



PART III/] LOVE. 3*,1 

felves in the fituation of another man, and view 
it, as it were, with his eyes, and from his ftation, 
we either can or cannot entiniy enter into and 
fympathize with the fentiments and motives which 
influenced it. We can never furvey our own 
fentiments and motives, we can never form any 
judgment concerning them ; unlefs we remove 
ourfelves, as it were, from our own natural ftation, 
and endeavour to view them as at a certain 
diitance from us. But we can do this in no other 
way than by endeavouring to view them with the 
eyes of other people, or as other people are likely 
to view them. Whatever judgment we can form 
concerning them, accordingly, mull 'always bear 
fome fecret reference, either to what is, or to 
what, upon a certain condition, would be, or to 
what, we imagine, ought to be the judgment of 
others. We endeavour to examine our own con- 
duel: as we imagine any other fair and impartial 
fpectator would examine it. If, upon placing 
ourfelves in his fituation, we thoroughly enter 
into all the pafnons and motives which influenced 
it, we approve of it, by fympathy with the ap- 
probation of this fuppofed equitable judge. If 
other wife, we enter into his difapprobation, and 
condemn it. 

Were it poffible that a human creature could 
grow up to manhood in fome folitary place, with- 
out any communication with his own fpecies, he 
could no more think of his own character, of the 

propriety 



3-32 LOVE. [l-ART Iff. 

propriety or demerit of his own fentirj „?A 

conduct, of the beauty or de r own 

mind, than of the beaut) or deformity of his own 
face. At) taefe are objects which he cannot eafyy 
fee, which naturally he does not look''.:, a:.:! with 
regard to which he is provided with no mirror 
which can pre! nt them to h,s view. Bring him 
into fociety, 2nd he is immediately provided with 
the mirror which he wanted before. It is pL ed 
jn the co mtenance and behaviour of thole he lives 
with, which always mark when thev enr r into, 
and when they disapprove of his fentii and 

it is here thai ' . firfl views the propriety and i n- 
propriety of h ; s o. n j tflions, the beauty and def< r- 
mity of 'his own mind. To a man who, from his birth, 
was a ftranger to foci tv, the objects of his paf- 
fions, the external bodies which cither pleaied or 
hint him would occupy his whole attention. 
The paflioos themlclves, the defires or averfions, 
the joys or forrows, which thofe objects excited, 
though of all things the molt immediately prefent 
to him, could Scarcely ever be the obiec'is of his 
thoughts. The ideaof them could never intereft him 
fo much as to call upon his attentive confideration. 
The confideration of his joy could in him excite 
no new joy, nor that of his forrow any new for: 
though the confideration of the caufes of thole 
potions might often excite both. Bring him into 
fociety, and all his own pafiions will immediately 
become the caufes of new paffions. He will ob- 
ferve, that mankind approve of fome of them, and 

are 



JPART III.] LOVE. 336 

are diigufted by others. He will be elevated in 
the one cafe, and call down in the other ; his 
defires and averfions, his joys and forrows, will 
now often become the caufes of new defires and 
new averfions, new joys and new forrows : they 
will now, therefore, intereft him deeply, and 
often call upon his mod attentive confideration. 

Our firft ideas of perfona! beauty and de- 
formity, are drawn from the fhape and appearance 
of others, not from our own. We foon become 
feniible, however, that others exercife the fame 
criticifm upon us. We are pleafed when they 
approve of our figure, and are diibbliged when 
they feem to be digufied. We become anxious 
to know how far our appearance deferves either 
their blame or approbation. We examine our 
perfons limb by limb, and by placing ourfelves 
before alooking-glafs, or by fome fuch expedient, 
1 endeavour, as much as poifibie, to view ourfelves 
at the diflance and with the eyes of other people. 
If, after this examination, we are fatisfied with 
our own appearance, we can more eafily fupport 
the moil disadvantageous judgments of others. 
If, on the contrary, we are fenfible that we are 
the natural objecls of diftaUe, every appearance 
of their difapprobadon morcifies us beyond all 
meafure. A man who is tolerably handfome, 
will allow you to laugh at any iit,tle irregularity 
in his perfon ; but all fuch jokes are commonly 
infupportable to one who is really deformed. 

It 



334 LOVE. [PART III. 

It is evident, however, that we are anxious about 
our own beauty and deformity, only upon account 
of its effect upon others. If we had no con- 
nexion with fociety, we fhould be altogether in- 
different about either. 

In the fame manner, our firft moral criticifms 
are exercifed upon the characters and conduct of 
other people ; and we are all very forward to ob- 
ferve how each of thefe affects us. But we foon 
learn, that other people are equally frank with 
regard to our own. We become anxious to know 
how far wc delerve their cenfure or applaufe, and 
w nether to them we mult neceflarily appear 
thole agreeable or dilagreeable creatures which 
they reprefent us. We begin, upon this account, 
to examine our own paflions and conduct, and to 
confider how thefe mult appear to them, by coo- 
fid ering how they would appear to us if in their 
fituation. We iuppofe ourfelves the fpeclators of 
our own behaviour, and endeavour to imagine 
what effect it would, in this light, produce upon 
us. This is the only looking-giafs by which we 
can, in fome meaiure, with the eyes of other peo- 
ple, ferutinize the propriety of our own conduct. 
If in this view it pleafes us, we are tolerably iatis- 
fied. We can be more indifferent about the ap- 
plaufe, and, in fome meafure, defpife the cenfure 
of the world; fecure that, however mifunderftood 
or miirepreiented, we are the natural and proper 
objects of approbation. On the contrary, if we 

are 



PART III.] LOVE. 335 

are doubtful about it, we are often upon that very- 
account., more anxious to gajn their approbation, 
and provided we have not already, as they fay, 
fhaken hands with infamy, we are altogether dif- 
tradted at the thoughts of their cenfure, which, 
then ilnkes us with double fe verity. 

When I endeavour to examine my own con- 
duct, when I endeavour to pafs fentence upon it, 
and either to approve or condemn it, it is evident 
that, in all fuch cafes, I divide myfclf, as it were, 
into two perfons ; and that I, the examiner and 
judge, reprefent a different character from that 
other I, the perfon whole conduct is examined 
into, and judged of. The firft is the fpeclator, 
whofe fentiments with regard to my own conduct 
I endeavour to enter into, by placing myfelf in 
his fituation, and by considering how it would 
appear to me, when feen from that particular point 
of view. The fecond is the agent, the perfon 
whom I properly call myfelf, and of whofe con- 
duct, under the character of a fpectator, I was 
endeavouring to form fome opinion. The fir ft is 
the judge ; the fecond the perfon judged of. But 
that the judge fhould, in every refpect, be the 
fame with the perfon judged of, is as impoflible, 
as that the caufe fhould, in every refpect, be the 
fame with the effect . 

To be- amiable and to be meritorious; that is, 
to deferve love and to deferve reward, are the 
great characters of Virtue ; and to be odious and 

punishable. 



33$ love- [part nr. 

punifhable, of vice. But all thefe characters 
have an. immediate reference to the fentiments of 
others. Virtue is not faid to be amiable, or to be 
meritorious, becaufe it is the objecl of its own 
love, or of its own gratitude ; but becaufe it excites 
thofe fentiments in other men. The confcioufnefs 
that it is the objecl: of fuch favourable regards, is 
the fource of that inward tranquillity and felf-faris- 
fnction with which it is naturally attended, as the 
fulpicion of the contrary, gives occafion to the 
torments of vice. What fo great happinefs as to 
be beloved, and to know that we deferve to be 
beloved ? What fo great milery as to be hated, 
and to know that we deferve to be hated ? 

Sect. IV. Jeahujy. 

JEALOUSY is evidently a deviation of Self- 
Love. It is the pain felt on apprehending the 
diminution of the affection of one dear to us, at- 
tended with difplcafure at the caufe. To be loved 
by the woman we love, is fo delightful to the 
heart, that whatever has the appearance of rival- 
fhip is a dagger to us, and as we fancy the favour- 
ed object to gain on the affection we would ap- 
propriate, our reflections are tortured by the lofs 
we iuftain. In the love that exifts between the 
lexes, it is impoiiibie to admit a communion of 
atfection : 



Che 



TART III.] LOVE. 337 

Che chiafcun per te fofpiri, 
Bella Nice, io ion contento : 
Ma per altri, oh Dio, pavento 
Che tu impaii a fofpirar. 

Metastasio. 

To be happy, the lover muft reign fupreme, mull 
triumph in the heart of the object beloved. On 
the flighted appearance of a rival, that is, of one 
to whom the moft diftant hope is given, even 
though never to be realized, of being admitted to 
a participation of that mixed affection treated of 
in the firft fection of this chapter, Jealoufy muff 
enfue : and the reafon is obvious, for fuch a hope 
involves a notion of the breach of the virtues of 
fidelity and chaftity. 

The continuation of doubt increafes the emo- 
tion, but certainty puts an end to it, and indif- 
ference or defpair takes its place. This jealoufy 
feenis to be a natural effect of the delinquency of 
one of the lovers, and can feldom happen in a 
union of true love : but that ready Jealoufy, which 
is the offspring of a fufpicious difpoiition, is a 
compound of felfifhnefs and confeious unworthi- 
nefs. 

Friendfhip partakes in fome degree of this 
pailion ; but then it arifes only from neglect of 
the friend, and not from rivalry; for friendfhip 
freely admits that communion of affection which 
would be the deftruction of loye. 

Z ' I have 



33S lOVE. [part Iff, 

I have faid that children learn early to be jea-' 
lous, but it is the fault of thofe about them. In 
the clafs of parental duties there is not a more 
important one than that of impartiality, and of 
manifefting an equal degree of affection for every 
child ; or making each fenfible that love can only 
lean mod to where there is moft goodnefs. The 
effect of mowing perfonal or other capricious 
diftinctions, is more pernicious than can be cal- 
culated. Envy, hatred, ft rife, delpondence, arc 
the deplorable fruits of parental partiality ; but 
by an equal difpofition of love, not only Jealouiy 
may be kept from the bofoms of children, but 
they may be made foon to fee the beauty of pre- 
ferring one another to thcmfelves, and to gain 
habits of mutual attention, that will fcrengthen 
fraternal attachment. 



Sect. V. Stur^S. 

I HAVE placed Sele-love foremoft in the 
family of Love, but I doubt whether the natu- 
ral AFFECTION OF MAN AS A PARENT, ihoulu 

not have had the precedence. It is the fain ion of 
modern philofophy to reiolve this affection into 
Self-love : in which cafe the latter will be often 
found oppofed to itfelf ; for if Self-prefervation be 
the firft law of Nature, and to courfc of Self-love, 

how 



>ART III/] LOVE. 339 

how fhall we reconcile with it, that prompt de- 
votion of onefelf to danger, and even to death, 
for the fake of children, which we fee effected by 
the Storgc ? I leave it to be reconciled by the 
difciples of the Gallic Duke. If it be faid, that 
there are few parents in whom it prevails fo far ; 
if I am told of Lady Macclesfield (the mother of 
Savage) and fome others, who were flrangers to 
this- emotion, who were even unmindful of the 
principle fo beautifully inculcated by one of the 
moft engaging writers of the laft century, one fo 
thoroughly acquainted with the heart, who fpeaking 
of children fays, that, " whether they are maimed 
or perfect, iickly or robuft, each of them is a fa- 
cred depoiit, of which the parent is to give an ac- 
count to him of whom he received it ; marriage 
being a contract made with a nature as well as be- 
tween the parties"— I have Drily to obferve, that for 
thefe deviations we may be forry, but that Nature 
herfelf is pure ; and that the Storge, to the height 
I have mentionedj is corifom.nt to her laws. Do 
we not fee it carried to this height even by many 
of the lower order of animals ? And though in 
them the irifefeft abates with the maturity of the 
offspring, in man it riles, or (hould rife, into that 
ronfummate friendfhip that naturally impels pa- 
rent and child to devote ielf to the fefetjr and hap-, 
pinefs o( each other. 

This delightful difpofition of the mind is, in- 
deed, too often deftroyed by the fangs of Jelfifh- 

Z 2 nefs: 



340 LOVE. fpART XII, 

nefs. The habit of pleafures, inconfiftent with it 3 
prevails again ft Nature, whofe ties are broken ; 
and we fee perfons, in whom the fame blood 
flows, more carelefs and indifferent to the felicity 
of eacfr other, than to the care of a favourite 
brute; and even mothers forfaking their daughters 
with the apathy of an oftrich. 

This kindred Love fpreads from the parents, 
and becomes the fource of attachment among 
brothers and lifters, defcending to their children, 
and branching through the various degrees of re- 
lation, as far as the blood can be traced. What a 
pity it is, that this pure and delightful affection 
ihould ever be interrupted : and that paltry in- 
tereft, or envy, is allowed to creep into the foul 
to difturb it ! Oh ! my children ! cherifh the 
blcflings Nature lays before you. Love one ano- 
ther ; fupport one another ; and to your affeclion 
sdd virtue; then there is no fituation in life that 
you will not find replete with comfort; but, be 
afTured, if ever you become carelefs of the fate of 
each other, that your beft fpring of joy will be 
dried up. Other friendfhips are fragile ; and to 
gain or to preferve the elteem and refpedfc of what 
is called the world will often require facrifices, 
which you will deem infamous. Keep, then, this 
refuge of fraternal affeclion ever in ftore, and the 
frowns and icofts of the world fhall never have 
power to pierce through the confeioufnefs of in- 
i;,ocence i and the fmiles of fraternal Love. 

Sect. VI 



PART III/] 1 ■ VF.. 311 



Sect. VI. Ejlecm and tfrienJjRif. 

ESTEEM is a mild affec'lion founded on the 
virtues and abilities of its object, and is the chief 
bails of Friendfhip ; an affection which ranks in 
the family of Love, and is the Love \vc feel for 
another, independent of motives arifing either 
from blood or fex. It may be formed with rela- 
tions, ncverthelcfs, and between perfons of a dif- 
ferent fex : in the latter, it is very eafily dif- 
tinguifhed from Love ; but in the former they be- 
come infeparably blended. It has this iuperiority 
over natural affection and fexual Love, that it is 
lefs dependent upon inftinct, and more effentially 
founded upon Esteem ; a virtuous difpofition 
being a neceffary quality in Friendfhip. 

I mean not to be among the number who fay 
that it is only a name ; but, with Tully, to place 
it next to Virtue in the fcale of good, virtute ex~ 
cepta, nihil ami 'cilia pr t c/lahHius : yet I allow, that 
what commonly goes by its name is nothing more 
than an implied contract: of mutual flattery ; of 
which Self-love, Wealth, and Power, are the un- 
doubted fources. I conceive that fuch a mockery 
of Friendfhip may be plealant enough to thole 
whole underftandings are not bleficd with much 
di {crimination ; and a very tolerable fubftitute as 
long as the deception Jafts : but to fuch as have 
penetration, this fpecies of mummery will pais 
Z 3 for 



324 LOVE. [PART III, 

fer juft what it is ; and a man in poffeffion of very 
fuperior power and fortune, who is, at the fame 
time, a man of fenfe, will have to regret in gene- 
ral the difficulty of finding a real friend, and be 
driven to other confolations, which his riches may 
afford. However, in every fituation of life, the 
feeds of Friendfhip are fown with the feeds of Vir- 
tue ; and where the latter take root, the former 
may be matured. 

Real Friendfliip, once formed, muft be fup- 
ported by .confidence and iincerity. Diftruft and 
diffimulation are its deadlieft poifon. The odious 
maxim of living fo guardedly, as to be prepared 
for perfidy, is wholly incontinent with this af- 
fection. Friends may prove perfidious, but the 
bafenefs of fufpicion muft not contaminate the 
fountain of Friendfhip. It is, indeed, a lamenta- 
ble cafe, where an open, ingenuous, and warm 
temper, repofing in full confidence all its feelings 
and its fecrets in the boibxii of a bafe fpirit. finds 
itfelf betrayed. Corrupt, however, as the nature 
of man may have become, there cannot be many 
fo truly diabolical : and, when it does happen, 
the beings that perpetrate fuch horrors, can 
fcarcely be considered of our ipeoies ; but rather 
as infernals permitted to alTume the form of man- 
kind for inicrutable purpofes. <* We are com- 
manded," faid the great Cofmo, Duke of Flo- 
rence, " to forgive our enemies, but we are no 
where commanded to forgive our friends." I:, 



PAUt III.] LOVE. 343 

by this, Cofmo meant that God does not require 
us ever again to confide in, or aiToci ate with theie 
jpirits, I agree in his opinion; but if he fup- 
pofed them left open to his revenge, I diffent 
from him : becaufe revenge is itfelf a Satanic paf- 
fion, and devils are a kind of enemy whom we 
cannot fafely combat with their own weapons, 
which are double-edged, and cannot be handled 
but to our own deftruction. 



Sect. VII. Patriotifm. 

PATRIOTISM is an affeclion extended to, and 
bounded by the dates of which wc are members. 
It is founded on the impracticability of an uni- 
verfal community. That the . divifion of men 
into feparate flates arofe from the will of our 
Creator, is fully manifested, among other proofs, 
by the variety of languages on the earth. This 
divifion, however, may have been the refult of 
events originating in the corruption of man ; 
and therefore Patriotifm is, perhaps, more an ar- 
tificial than a natural paffion. 

When great advantages are to be derived to a 
portion of mankind from a union of the efforts of 
a circumfcribed number of men, exclufive of the 
reft of the world ; and when thefe advantages can- 
not be obtained but by fuch union and exclu- 

Z 4 fion ; 



344 LOVE. [PART III. 

Hon; a juft and well founded patriotifm takes 
place. It is in fact the love of community, and 
not of place, nor of foil ; it is an attachment to 
the regulations, the laws, and the virtues that 
pervade the country, and not to the country it- 
felf; and we love our countryman becaufe he 
unites in fupporting thole regulations, laws, 
and virtues, not becaufe he drew his firft breath 
within certain limits of the globe, where we firft 
drew our own. 

As on the efforts of individuals depend the 
fafety and happinefs of the whole, it becomes the 
duty of every man to give his particular aiTiftance 
to the general weal. He who performs his duty 
with alacrity, nobly facrificing all private intereft 
to the public welfare, whether he be a monarch 
or a fubjecl, a prime minifter or a parifh boy, is 
a patriot ; and the difinterefted facrifice he makes 
of his time and talents, merits all the glory de- 
fervcdly beftowed on patriotifm. Although I 
have defcribed this pailion as having little re- 
ference to foil, I do not mean to alperfe local at- 
tachments : for 

Dear is the flicd to which the foul conforms, 
And dear that hill which lifts him to the ftorms. 

G O L D b m 1 t h . 



Sect. VIII. 



PART III.] Lt)VE, 315 



Sect. VIII. Philanthropy. 

PHILANTHROPY, Benevolence, and the 
gofpel Charity, are nearly fynonimous terms ; 
and fignify an active affection for the human 
race in general. The Philanthropist takes an im- 
partial view both of virtue and vice : confiders 
the original nature of man with admiration, and 
his degradation with concern. He cannot love 
the vicious as the virtuous ; but he loves them fo 
much as to wifh for their reformation, and to do 
all in his power to efFect it. There is a fmiili- 
tude in his, affection to that of the Storge of a pa- 
rent, who loves even thofe of his children whom 
he cannot efteem. It is a celeftial principle ; 
and of the proofs of the divine million of our 
Saviour, none is more convincing than the uni- 
verfal philanthropy that pervaded his life and his 
doctrines. 



Sect. IX. Gratitude. 

GRATITUDE is a warm affection, by which 
we are prompted to acknowledge kind offices, 
and to delight in praifing and ferving the per foil 
from whom we have received them. In this 
fenfc, it is an emotion, of which none but de- 
generate fpirits can foil to be fufceptiblc. 

When 



34(t lOVE. [PART II?, 

When gratitude is merely a duty, ariflng from 
obligations that are io conferred as to be rendered 
painful, it is not of the family of Love. He 
who deiires to repay a benefit becaufe it is bur- 
denfome to him, is actuated by a wounded and a 
laudable pride : and to a good heart the inability 
of difcharging fuch a benefit is intolerably pain- 
ful. We cannot fatisfy our hearts by reflecting, 
that the perfon who has conferred an obligation 
of this fort is an unworthy fpirit, and that, there- 
fore, the obligation carries no duty ; which, in 
the fight of God, I believe to be the truth : with 
the feelings of a man, however, it is hardly pof- 
fible to be eafy until an adequate return is 
made. 

The difference between genuine Gratitude, 
and this painful defire of d g ourf elves 

of obligations, is very great. The ^gh 

ever ready to return its lerviccs, never contem- 
plates a difcharge of the affection excited by 
kind offices ; for, befides that the emotion is a 
very pleafing one, it never can be difcharged ; 
wffereas the latter thinks only of repaying the 
obligation, in order to get rid of a burdenfome 
.duty. 

He who lends his money, and boafts of vt, has 
ferved, and therefore conferred an obligate 
but it is that kind of obligation, which the re- 
payment of the money totally discharges, It i 
ftrong obfervaticn of Lav iter'?, whole knowledge 

of 



FART III.] LOVE. 31? 

of the face and of the heart, feeins to be concur- 
rent, that, " The creditor, whofe appearance 
gladdens the heart of a debtor, may hold his 
head in the fun-beams, and his foot on ftorms," 
which is as much as to fay, that he refcmblcs the 
Deity, who in actions of beneficence produces 
that fpecies of gratitude that flows with love, and 
charms the heart ; while it infers, that it is a 
common, paltry foul, whofe felfifh benevolence 
attempts to extract gratitude from the pangs of 
feniibility. 

God forbid that I fhould have the flighteft 
appearance of being the advocate of ingrati- 
tude ; the blacker! of vices ! but in difcriminat- 
ing the Paffions, we muft point out the genuine 
from the fpurious, and mult diftmguifti thofe tha* 
exalt virtue, from thofe that puff up vice and 
folly. Indeed Gratitude is fo natural and fo 
ftrong an affection, that in a breaft not com- 
pletely degenerate, it cannot be eafily luppreffed, 
but by the conduct of the benefactor. 

Antipathy and genuine Gratitude can never 
mingle. Actions that create elifguft and d eft roy this 
affection : and there are ibme that diffolve it even 
as a duty, removing at once every painful ienfe 
of the obligation. " I Can owe nothing," fays 
Seneca, S( to the villain, who having lent me forne 
money, afterwards fets my houfe on fire, or 
poifons my child." What Gratitude can furvive 
die malice of flandcr, the malignant plans of un- 
dermining 



34S LOVE. [PART 171, 

clerminingdomeftic felicity/ the diabolical attempt 
of fowing difrefpecl: and hatred in the bofom of a 
daughter, and jealoufy in the heart of a beloved 
wife ? What Gratitude is due to one- who benefits 
you for felfifh ends, and in benefiting tyrannizes ? 
And what Gratitude can outlive an infamous 
breach of confidence, a treachery, that after the 
repofe of years, betrays and magnifies the frailties 
of youth ? 

I can forgive 
A foe, hut not a miftrefs, or a friend. 
Trealon is there in its molt horrid fhape 
Where trull is greateft, and the foul refign'd 
Is Itabb'd by its own guards. Dryden, 

To defend, however, the mind from ingrati- 
tude, it is to be obi erred, that on this, as indeed 
on every occafion, truth and fincerity are the 
foundations of right and wrong. I addrefs the 
rccefies of the heart : every one knows what 
pafles in his own, and he, in whom kind offices 
excite no Gratitude, may prepare to fwear allegi- 
ance to the prince and fire of Gratitude ; 

— i in whom all good proved ill, 



And wrought but malice. Milton. 



o 



Sect. X. Pie 

PIETY is reverential affection ; let us take a 
view of it as it relates to the Deitv. 

In 



JPART III.] LOVE. 34») 

In tracing the works of God from a lifelefs 
atom to his own infinity, fhort muft be his fight, 
who boands creation at the link formed by the 
.race of man. The exigence of angels and arch- 
angels, of fpirits riling gradually, yet infinitely, 
in faculties and power, is confonant to reafon, as 
well as eftablimed by revelation. If we are 
ready to give ear to the wonderful fuggefTion of 
aftronomy, that the whole of our Planetary 
Syflem is, with many other Planetary Syilems, 
and their Suns, thrown round a common centre, 
and fo on for ever, why is it to be doubted, that 
there are afcending ranks of fpiritual exiftence 
continued without bound? When once thefaculties 
of man arc able to form fome judgment. of God's 
power by a review of the material fyftem, there 
is a total end to limitation. Let the mind admit 
that this globe was created, and the foundation 
is laid for purfuing' grandeur in all its fublimity. 
If the material iyftem be grand, the fpiritual fyf- 
tem muft be grander ; and to fay that it is de- 
pendent upon matter is not only to limit, but 
to place that lowed which reafon places highcfl. 
In man, matter and fpirit are fo blended, and the 
fcparation fo difficult to be comprehended, that 
the inveftigation, if not carried on with fimpii- 
city and purity of mind, leads to mazes and 
error. Allowing that there are, beyond the 
mortal flate fuperior beings poflefling minds 
highly fublimed, is it neceflary, that fuch beings 

lhould 



350 LOVE. t>ARt III, 

fhould have bodies as folid as thofe which ftrike 
our fenfes ? This again would be to limit. If 
there are beings independent of fuch grofs bodie3 
as appear on earth, the union of the two is 
poiiible, and from analogy probable. It is much 
eafier, too, to believe the immortality of fuch a 
compound being than of one wholly material ; 
the modern philofophy of which has no folid 
arguments in its favour. To him who can folace 
his mind in the mediation of fpirits, the path of 
happinefs is open, and he is among the moil in- 
dependent of his fpecies. Our real acquaintance 
with thefe fuperior orders is, indeed, very cir- 
cumicribed. Reafon introduces us but a very 
little way into their everlailing abodes, and ima- 
gination is not to be truftcd. Reafon does, 
however, teach us, that we are, in fome degree, 
related to thofe orders ; and as inferior creatures 
have feveral privileges in common with us, we 
enjoy others in common with our fuperiors ; one 
particularly, to think of and to adore the Su- 
preme Being. Of their modes of exiftence, of 
the peculiar pleafures and puriiiits of their na- 
tures we know nothing clearly, but we mult 
believe that they extol and glorify their 
Creator. 

The enjoyment of adoring is of an exalted 
nature. Brutes know nothing of it : Man is but 
incompletely formed for it : Angels muit par- 
take of it with rapture. What plealure fills the 

b re aft 



PART III/] LOVE. 351 

bread while we praife the perfon who defcrves it, 
and efpecially if that perfon be our fhend ! We 
are the more fenfible of this pleafure becaule con- 
nected with our fenfes. The nearer then that 
fpirits approach to God, the more exquiiite will be 
the enjoyment of praifing him. Adoration is the 
higheft praife attended with the higher! love ; and 
the man who delights to praife the Deity has an 
carneft in his delight that he is drawing nearer to 
him. 

It is not here intended to fpeak of Adoration as 
a duty, but as a pleafure, pure, animated, fub- 
lime, and moil delightful, to fuch as poffefs fouls 
confeious of their relation to fuperior beings. 

Every mind that has been habituated to fpiritual- 
ize, is formed to enjoy in private that communion 
with the Divinity which he has allowed to our na- 
ture; in which' the foul is fully laid open, thofe at- 
tributes within our comprehenfion are dwelt upon, 
and the heart fecretly fwells in glorifying the 
Creator- 

But all enjoyment is heightened by participa* 
tion. Could men difcard their paffions, leave be- 
hind them envy, emulation, and vanity, and a 
difpofition to look with fincere afTeclion in the 
faces of each other, and to catch that fympathy, 
without which there cannot be united ardour, 
then no aflembly, that a voice could reach, would 
be too numerous ; and public worfhip v\ ould 
ftand foremofl not only as a duty, wliich it mull 

ever 



352 love. [pArtitI. 

ever do, but as a pleafunv in which it yields to 
Domeftic Adoration. 

Let a father teach his children to repeat the 
praifes of the Deity, fometimes in fuccellion, 
fbmetimes by refponfes, and fometimes with united 
voices ; let him join with them, then repeat him- 
ielf particular parts ; let him watch their cheer- 
ful, open, and finding countenances as they 
thank God, through him, for their exiftence : 
let him look upon their mother participating, and 
his domeftics uniting in the act of adoration : 
kftly, let him refle<5t that he is thus adding, I 
awful, yet how foothing a truth ! to the enjoy- 
ment of the Almighty ; and then, if he can, let 
him doubt that he is himfelf in the enjoyment 
of the moft rciined, the moil exalted of hun 
plcafures. 

While others practice devotion by while 

it is enjoined from the pulpit as a duty, liich a 
man feels himfelf fwayed by a rapture beyond 
the bounds of prelcription : he adores, not be- 
came he ought, but becaufe adoration is his de- 
light ; not becaufe he fears, but becaufe he loves. 

Does not a devotion of this nature border upon 
enthufiafm ? and do not the effects of enthufiafm 
appear, from experience, to be prejudicial to lin- 
eerity and true religion ? Such a devotion not 
only borders upon enthufiafm, but is liipported 
by it. There is little mental energy to be hoped 
without enthufiafm. It is the Sun which matures 

the 



PART Til.] LOVE. 3j3 

the nobler exertions of the mind, that^ were it re- 
moved, would be bound in impenetrable and eter- 
nal froft. Minds not prepared by the love of 
Virtue or Truth, and where fincerity never had 
root, may, when wrought upon by its influence, 
fend forth the noxious exhalations of Hypocrify ; 
but who knows not, that the faireft fruits are 
ripened by the fame fource which raifes from the 
impurities of flagnation all the miafmala of PeftL 
lence ? The devotion here extolled mull be fup- 
ported by thofe rays of enthufiafm that fall upon 
it through the medium of fincerity ; and the only 
perfonal mark of it is a cheerful countenance. 
Sighs, throwing the light upwards, and all extor- 
tioiis are foreign to its nature. It cannot be en- 
joyed by the wicked, and in its full extent only 
by noble minds. 

Befides the aclual plcafure arifmg from family 
adoration, there are confequential ones of high 
importance. It greatly contributes to form the 
morals and manners of children and fervants ; the 
former will not fail to add efteem and veneration 
to their natural love for their parents ; and the 
latter will be regular, honeft, and induftrious 
from principle ; while, at the fame time, a refpecl 
for the example conftantly before them begets an 
attachment and affection for their employers, 
which, becoming mutual, heightens domeftic ie- 
licitv. 

A a If 



354 LOVE. [PART III. 

If this adoration be really ib delightful, and at- 
tended with fuch advantageous confequences, 
how conies it to be negledfed ? 

There are two great caufes of this neglect : 
pride, and the two eager purfuit of leniual gra- 
tifications. The gay, the ignorant, and the pre- 
tended philofopher. confpire to call fneers upon 
him who bends his knee and fays I 
Let us get rid of the caufe, and the drill 

ceafe. 

The man who values himfelf only for a com 
that lcreens him from the laughter of fools, neg- 
lects the enjoyments of the wife. It is the part 
of wifdom to defpife fools, but whoever wilh 
be wife inufl alfo learn to bear the fcorn of fo 
for it is no left the part of fools to contemn the 
wife. 

nfual gr. cither 

res no time, or dilqualifies for I ts of 

devotion. That the fenfes w< ipon 

us as the means of pleafurc as well as of know- 
ledge, during t: is as cU I 
and dec J , of \n ; orm the 
iVltcm. That I not the only, or tl 
i eaj of our | . the lu- 
pcriority of It is an erro: 
teach that the ft e foes to Rel 
they derive their" high eft rcliih. Do not 
works of God yield an i le fund of 

pleafurc 



PART III.] LOVE. 355 

pleafure to the eye and to the ear of-' man ? and 
who can enjoy them like him who communes 
with, and adores the Almighty Giver ? does he 
not fhed perfumes around us, and is not thankful- 
nefs fweeter than odour ? Experience evinces that 
abftinenceand moderation are caterers to the palate, 
while the wretched epicure, who gluttons away 
the organ of tafle, becomes impotent of the 
fweets that are crowded on his table. Nor is it 
lefs certain, that the libertine deftroys at once ani- 
mal power and intellectual faculty ; whereas the 
united and temperate enjoyments of mind and of 
perfon give a durability of rapture to wedlock, 
which, joined to the pleafure of rearing, train- 
ing, and maturing the fruits of hallowed love, 
fets man on the fummit of terreflrial blifs ; 
whence, riling on the tip-toe of Hope, he is ready 
to believe he can difcern faint lines of fcenes 
beyond. 

Free to make friendfhip with the fenfes, man 
mult, however, aceomplifh dominion over the 
paffions, or confent to forego all the fuperior pri- 
vileges of humanity; not only ^ irtue, but intel- 
lect may be loft, and our preten lions to be an- 
gels totally funk in the lower half of our nature. 
It is they who are fo funk, or fo finking, that are 
clifqualified for the pleafure of Piety ; not they 
who wifely participate of both, crowning, like 
oar lirft parents before their fall, the enjoyment 
A a 2 of 



356" LOVE. [PART III. 

of the good things prepared for them, with the 
incenfe of adoration: 

(< They at their fhady lodge arriv'd, both ftood, 

Both turn'd, and under open iky ador'd 

The God that made both iky. air, earth, and heav n, 

Which they beheld, the moon's refplendeiit globe, 

And liam pole: Thou alio mad'ft the night, 

iUaker omnipotent, and thou the day, 

Which we in our appointed works employ'd 

Have finifhed, happy in our mutual help. 

And mutual love, the crown of all our blifs 

Ordain'd by Thee; and this delicious place, 

For us too large, where thy abundance wants 

Partakers, and uncropt falls to the ground. 

But Thou haftproimYd from us two a race 

To nil the earth, who (ball with us extol 

Thy goodnefs infinite, both when we wake, 

And when we feck, as now, thy gift of ileep." 

Pa n. Lost. 

Let us now return to Piety, as it relates to filial 
love : and in this view it is a mixture of natural 
affection, gratitude, and efteem. 

It is a common remark, that the inftinctive, or 
natural Ioyc of children towards their parents, 
is not fo powerful as that of parents towards 
their children ; and the rcafon given is, that it 
is more neceilary in the one than in the other, 
theprefcrvation of the offspring being greatly de- 
pendent upon the ilrength of parental love. I 
believe this to be true at fir ft, yet I fhould be 
lorry to conclude, that the arreclion remains al- 
ways 



I'AI^T III.] LOVE. 357 

ways unequal ; or that a child, as it gro.vs up, 
does not love its parent as ardently as it is loved. 
To make amends for the deficiency of filial jftorge, 
gratitude early comes in aid of it. Children be- 
gin to be grateful at the breait, and a fondneis 
takes place, that grows with their growth. 

It is, perhaps, owing to the fubftitution of 
nurfes, that ever the remark above alluded to 
was made ; for it is evident that an infant prefers 
its nurfe to its mother. Did young mothers 
know what inexpreilible delight there is in fuck- 
ling their children, and at the fame time did they 
confider, that this infantine gratitude is the fub- 
ftitution which Nature appoints to raife filial af- 
fection to a par with parental ftorg.% few, I be- 
lieve, in companion to the prefent number, 
would be found ready to refigii the delight. They 
would not fuffer diffipation, vanity, or the ill- 
grounded apprehenfion of deirroying the beauty 
of their bofoms, to prevail upon them to neglecl: 
ib Iweet a tafk. The joys of the mother would 
repay the hours of confinement, and their very 
nurfes can inftrudl them how to preferve that 
beauty they fear to lofe, till Time convinces them 
that every perfonal charm muft yeild to him. 

As children advance in years, their love natu- 
rally attaches to thofe from whom they receive in- 
frruclion, when it is given with afreet ion ai d 
miidnels. The early reparation from their parents 

A a 3 to 



358 LOVE. [PART III. 

to be fent to fchools, would certainly be another 
great caufe of the imperfection of the filial ftorge, 
were not their impatience excited for the vacations 
by comparing the indulgences of home with the 
restraints of their fchools. The gratitude, there- 
fore, which takes place in infancy, will be, if not 
wholly fufpended, at leaft enfeebled, in the fub- 
fequent ftage of life, if much is not done on the 
part of the parent in proofs of kindnefs. As they 
grow nearer to maturity, efteem muft perfect the 
work of inftinct and gratitude, in order to com- 
plete the equality, or mutual energy of the 
emotion. 

I conceive, that in a child thus raifed,the natural 
affection would be nearly, if not altogether, 
equal to the ftorge of the parent. However this 
be, the inftinctive affection is very ftrongly im- 
planted in both, where nature is not degenerate. 
Perfonal defects on the one hand, and incapacity 
of intellect on the other, rather tend to excite 
compafTionate affection ; but the deficiency of 
nature, the depravation of the heart, produces 
abhorrence. It is to be hoped, and I believe, 
that there are few instances of parental depravity, 
fimilar to that recorded of die mother of the un- 
fortunate Savage, or of a want of filial piety in 
general, as a duty : but ftill as an affectionate 
emotion, it can, when infancy is part, and reafon 
fways, fpring only from gratitude and efteem ; 

and 



PART HI.] SHAME. 359 

and where thefc caufca do exlfr, the deficiency of 
piety in the breaft of a child, is a iure mark of a 
mod deplorable depravation of nature. 



CHAPTER IX. 
SHAME. 

Sect. I. Its Van lies and Deviations. 

OHAME is an emotion arifing from the con^ 
fcioufhefs of guilt, defects, or mifconduct, real 
or imaginary. It is a genuine feeling, but mutt, 
like fome others, have been unknown, antecedent 
to the introduction of evil. Whatever we ought 
not to do 9 we ought to be afhamed of doing. 
The degree of uneafinefs attached to this paflion, 
will be proportioned by fenfibility to the nature 
of the guilt, defect, or mifcondu6r.. Habitual 
vice has, at times, totally eradicated Shame from 
fome minds; while, on the other hand, there is 
a conftitutional quicknefs, which renders fome 
fenfible of this emotion, not only without juft 
A a 4 realbn 



360 SHAME. [PART III* 

reafon, but even on occafions that are extremely 
honourable. 

The bashfulxess of a young woman fprings 
from her refpect to purity: and Diffidence, 
which in itfelf is amiable, will often create a per- 
plexity very fimilar to Shame. An ingenuous 
mind alfo feels a considerable degree of this 
emotion, on being over-valued ; for if we would 
be what we are thought to be, we blufh at the 
deficiency. In this view, Shame is very amiable; 
and Sir Harry Beaumont, in his elegant Dialogue 
upon Beauty, mentions it as capable of adding 
much intereit to a lovely face. In no view, in- 
deed, is well-grounded Shame other than laudable, 
ir always marks a fenfe of wrong, or of deficiency ; 
and at the fame time, an opennefs to conviction, 
and a delire of perfection. The mind that feels 
it, is prepared to retrieve its errors ; to atone for 
guilt ; or to aim at excellence : — but we may 
juftly fct him down upon the fcale of demons, 
who can knowingly do wrong without remorfe ; 
can injure a fellow-creature without compunction; 
and offend his Maker without contrition. 



Sect. II. Shame of doing Right* 

THERE is fuch a deviation of this pallion.— 
A falfe education, by which the prejudices in 
favour of a number of vices, far from having been 

rooted 



PART Illf) SORROW OR GRIEF. 3Gl 

rooted out, are confirmed, is the means by which 
this falutary emotion is forced from its natural 
channel. The virtues oppolite to fafhionable 
vices, bring blufhes into the faces of many. 

Fafhion is nothing more than the opinion and 
practice of a multitude ; to defy which, indeed, 
requires considerable courage. But an early 
habit of difcriminating between prejudice and 
rational conduct, will give that courage. This 
habit it mould be the grand aim of education to 
inftil ; and they Avho have been taught to ellimate 
the right will blufh only at doing wrong. 



CHAPTER X. 
SORROW OR GRIEF. 

Sect. I. Its Varieties mid Deviations. 

oORROW is the paflion we feel upon calami- 
ties : 'Confequently it has a variety of avenues to 
the heart ; and the degree in which it affects, de- 
pends not only on its caufes, but on the fenfi- 
bility of the mind. Of fenfibility it is difficult to 
determine the portion, without which virtue 

itfelf 



$6% SORROW OR GRIEF. [PART III, 

itfelf. would be lefs amiable; but as indifference re- 
duces the foul below even animal life, I think 
it were better to err in cultivating feniibility of 
the heart, than to run a rifk of blunting it into 
apathy. 

Venti inquieti 
Son nel mar della vita 
Gli affetti, anclf io lo fo j ma fenza venti 
Non fi naviga in mar. Met as. 

As we find the ft ate of things at prefent, Sor- 
row is a natural attendant on humanity. Like An- 
tipathy or Shame, it is the child of evil. Misfor- 1 
tune is nothing but the deprivation of fome good, 
or the occurrence of fome pofitive evil ; between 
which, indeed, there is fcarcely a diftinction ; the 
deprivation of good being an evil, and pofitive evil 
a deprivation of good. If we rejoice at the acqui- 
fition of what is agreeable, weas naturally grieve at 
its lofs. It does not come within my pre fen t plan to 
inveftigate the difference of real and imaginary 
good; but it is evident how much the dignity of all 
thePaflions depends upon their juit difcrimination. 
Whether real or imaginary, however, Sorrow is 
proportioned to the degree of attachment be- 
flowed upon the object we lament : and on tri- 
vial or abfurd occafions, it becomes difgufting or 
ridiculous. 

Grief, in the beft minds, is not eafily allayed ; 
for, while we f: bear as men we mult alio feel as 
men/' and the moil wholefome advice can go no 

further. 



PART III.] BORROW OR GRIEF. 363 

further, I think, than to moderate it with reflec- 
tions on the quick lapfe of life ; at the conclusion 
of which, we have every reafon to hope; and Sor- 
row^ patiently borne, and efpecially if fufFered in 
the caufe of virtue, will be repaid witli double 
joy. There are many wife modes of alleviation, 
to which we are bound to refort ; but none fo 
foothing as in communicating our feelings to a 
friend ; to one who we believe loves us and on 
whofe fidelity we have a perfect reliance. By 
concealment, grief corrodes the heart, and friend- 
ship is the balm that foothes and heals. 

Time ufually impairs the force of this Paflion ; 
but not always. A ftrong imagination will fome- 
times feed it fo long with the moil flattering- 
views of the object, that grief will fix upon the 
Jiabit and fettle into Melancholy ; for Melan- 
choly is but habitual Sorrow, which often pro- 
ceeds fo far as to derange the underflanding. 
The indulgence of Grief is therefore dangerous ; 
and its excefs ought to be guarded againft by the 
united power of religion and philofophy. Cfc Do- 
lores autem fi qui incurrent nunquam vim tantam 
habent, ut non plus habeat fapiens quod gaudeat 
quam quod angetur." That is, there is no Sor- 
row which may not be made the ally of wifdom. 
And in this fpirit the poet fays, 

Smitten friends 
Are angels fent on errands full of love. 

Young. 

Sect. II. 



364 SORROW OR GRIEF. [>ART III, 

Sect. IL Defpair. 

THE lofs of Hope, which, according ta its 
object, is a more or lefs ferious misfortune, is at- 
tended with an emotion, which, on trivial occa- 
sions, can hardly be termed a paflion, being mere- 
ly a belief of the improbability of an event tak- 
ing place : but when the event is of importance, 
the emotion on the lofs of hope is violent grief, 
emphatically ftyled Despair. 



Sect. III. Contrition, Remotjc. 

SORROW, as it relates iblely to our own ac- 
tions, is termed Rep-en tan c j.. Penitence 
Contrition, or Remorse. To a thinking be- 
ing, the confciouihefs of bad actions muft in- 
evitably be a fource of remorfe. Whatever thofe 
actions be, whether they have been committed 
againft virtue, or againft piety, both reafon and 
revelation teach us to atone for them by the iin- 
cerity of repentance ; and by reparation, where 
that remains poilible. Actions once committed 
to the rcgiftry of time cannot pofribly be can- 
celled, what a ftrong guard againft crimes and 
vice would this reflection prove, were not reafon 
lb often fwept from its poft, by the overflowing 
torrents of deviated pallions ! But though they 

cannot 



PART III,] SYMPATHY. $63 

cannot be recalled, they may be atoned for, and 
even turned to advantage ; " for that Tingle effort, 
by which we ftop fliort in the down-hill path to 
perdition, is itfelf a greater exertion of virtue 
than a hundred acts of juftice*." This is a footh* 
ing, but a dangerous doctrine ; for it is to be 
feared, that preient temptations will be aided by 
the anticipation of future penitence. Of one 
thing, however, we may be allured, that the peni- 
tence, neceflary to atonement, rauft be a Sorrow 
deeply fincere and bitter. 



CHAPTER XL 

SYMPATHY, 
Including Pity and Terror. 

Sect. L 

vJ^UR Creator having formed us with pafIions ; 
and evidently intended thofe paflions to be the 
means or Security of happinefs, an unnatural at- 

* GoMftnitfc 

rempt 



S6& SYMPATHY. [PART lit, 

tempt to eradicate them, in order to attain the 
negative eafe of apathy, or a ftate of indifference, 
cannot but be finful. In phlegmatic constitutions, 
how degraded does the nature of man appear ! It 
is true, that fenfibility equally fubjects the heart 
to pain as to pleafure ; but the pains that arife 
from fenfibility are enviable pains, becauie they 
generally fpring from the mofl amiable motives, 
and raife the affections of great and good fpirits : 
while apathy, however convenient to a paltry, lift- 
lefs fet of nerves, is contemptible and odious. 

I have no doubt that the ipurious philofophy 
of Apathy, which was maintained by the Stoics, is 
a deviation from that pure ambition by which we 
are excited to elevate our nature. It was a maxim 
among them, that the fewer their wants, the more 
they refembled the gods ; and that not to be 
moved by fublunary pains and pleafures was the 
proof of a great foul. By the way, it is very 
linking that their gods were girted with all the 
vileft of the human pailions. 

How far fuperior fpirits may be endowed with 
feelings, or fome mode of affections analagous to 
our feelings, is a metaphyseal enquiry, which 
mull terminate in conjecture ; but probable con- 
jecture is a good ground for Reafon. Joy, which 
is a paiiion. is kfelf the principle of biifs ; and 
from love, the very thought of creation teems to 
have fprung. ll is highly probable, that together 
with refined faculties, refined affections constitute 

a part 



PART III.] SYMPATHY. 367 

a part of fuperior natures : and that their happi- 
nefs, far from confiding in the paucity of wants, 
is fiipported by infinite dtfires and infinite gratifi- 
cations. The nature of the blifs enjoyed by an 
eternal felf exifting Being is infinitely beyond the 
contemplation of human faculties. It is in vain to 
attempt the fubjeift : yet we may be allowed to 
lay, what appears ib evident, that love and com- 
municated blifs mingle in the divine nature. 

Apathy may produce the eafe, if the expreflion 
may be ufed, of a (lone ; but fenfibility muft be 
the means of all pleafure : and, with refpecl to 
eradicating it, left it fhould be the means too of 
mifery, I fhould think it juft as natural to cut off 
a limb to prevent an occalional finger ache. 

Studiairfi, e ver, l'umane 
Pamoni a deltar: ma chi voleiTe 
Eftinguerle neli' uomo ; un tronco, un faffo 
Dell uom faiia. Mht. 

It is Senfibility, and not Apathy, which truly 
exalts Nature : but not a fenfibility, however, that 
oppofes Reafon ; and therefore, though it is to be 
cultivated, its luxuriances and weakriefles are to 
be pruned and tempered by fortitude on the one 
hand, and by a difcrimination of juft delight on 
the other. 

All the paflions, more orlefs, depend upon Sen- 
fibility ; but Sympathy, as it is rather the means 
by which Nature reverberates an emotion, than 

an 



368 SYMPATHY. [PART III, 

an original emotion, is doubly dependant upon it. » 
Sympathy, as I have already had occafion to 
mention, is that affection of the mind, by which 
we are interefted in objects from fome natural 
iimilarity. Men of fimilar puriuits, of fimilar 
habits, of fimilar joys and griefs, readily fympa- 
thize ; and the general refemblance of the fpecies 
is the foundation of general fympathy, by which 
we are excited to feel what others feel, whether 
plealing or painful. 

Sect. II. 

IT is the pride of the intellect to inveftigate 
caufes : and it often leaves the plain road, to mew 
its dexterity in dilcoveries. No difficulty has 
attended the caufes of our participating the plea- 
sures, but our promptnefs to enter into, and fond 
participation of, the diltrefs of others, and the 
intereit. wc take in things of a terrible nature, have 
been variously accounted for. 

Pipy, according to Hobbes and Rochefoucault, 
is a fenfe of our own misfortunes in thofe of other 
people. We affift others, fays the latter, that 
thev may affift us on like occafions. Burke fays- 
we have a degree of delight, and that no fmall 
one, in the real misfortunes and pains of others : 
while Johnfon, in his preface to Shakfpeare, de- 
cides that they can only pleafe while fictitious, 
and ihewn as images ; for, lays he, if we thong 

murders 



PART III.] SYMPATHY. 3^9 

murders and treafon real, they would pleale no 
more. Burke's argument is, that as we are in- 
duced to approach and to dwell upon fad objects , 
if we do not fhun them, they mud give us plea- 
fure : that we enjoy the authentic calamities of 
hidory as well as the fictitious ones of romance : 
and he puts a cafe, in which he fuppofes that 
the fined tragedy, performed by the beft actors, 
would be forfaken on a report of a date criminal 
of high rank being on the point of being executed, 
in an adjoining fquare. He argues alfo, that 
numbers would croud to fee the ruins of a city- 
after a conflagration, who never would have 
thought of going near it before. I have the 
higheft refpect for the genius of Mr. Burke, and 
of all his productions, more particularly for that 
which I have now in view : but I feel fo great a 
difinclination to the doctrine of receiving pleafure 
from the real calamities of others, that I cannot 
admit it without dronger grounds of convic- 
tion. 

We often willingly approach what is produc- 
tive only of pain. We are chained to the death- 
bed of a friend, by the pang of a lading fepara- 
tion ; and grief at that moment cannot be attended 
with pleafing fenfations, however it may be after- 
terwards mingled with the pleafurable views of the 
object. If ever a good mind has a gratification 
in approaching real didrefs, furely it mud arife 
from a hope of aflifting to alleviate ; for I cannot 

Bb but 



370 SYMPATHY. [PART III. 

but think it natural to fhun the fad objects of 
real life, when there is no hope whatever of con- 
tributing in any fhape to relieve, unlefs impelled 
by admiration : and that this, far from meriting 
the reproach of indolence which Mr. Burke throws 
upon it, is, in fact, but obeying the dictates of 
humanity and reafon. It is to be apprehended 
that he who can feel pleafure in the pain of others, 
will be excited, not only to find, but to make oc- 
calions of gratification ; than which, what can 
be more diabolical ? I conceive it to be no re- 
proach to have fhunned the Greve while a crimi- 
nal was upon the wheel ; and am inclined to be- 
lieve that the crouds generally attending execu- 
tions, are gathered by motives wholly unconnected 
with fympathy. Some attend through curiofity, 
others with no view but that of being in the 
croud, and fome barbarians, perhaps, for fofilive, 
not fympathetic pleafure ; for that kind of plea- 
fure enjoyed by the Roman emperor when he 
fired the city ; or when he ordered it to be lighted 
up with with the perfons of the Christians, anoint- 
ed with a combuftible preparation for the eafier 
admiflion of the flames. 

As to authentic calamities ; — when they are 
long pad they rank with refpect to the produc- 
tion of emotions, little, if at all, above fictitious 
ones ; for we are no more acquainted with the 
perfonages of the one than of the other. In 
either cfcie, the energy of our fympathy depends 

rather 



PAkr iti.] Sympathy. 371 

rather upon the powers of the hiftorian, and of 
the poet, than upon the bare facts themfelves. 

The preference which Mr. Burke fays would 
be given to a real execution over a reprefented 
tragedy, it is not clear to me would be the cafej 
if Sympathy were the only attraction. Much mull 
be allowed to the rank of the criminal, to the 
rarity of the fpectacle, and to the curlofity of the 
fpectator. Let the fufferer be a common male- 
factor, and let executions be fo frequent that 
curiofity fhall have little allurement, would the 
theatre lofe a fingle fpectator ? Inform a mob, 
gathered on an execution-day round the fcaffold 
at Newgate, that George Barnwell was going to 
be played at Drury-lane or Covent-Garden, gratis; 
and that the firft at the doors would get feats : I 
rather think that Newgate would be foriaken till 
the playhoufe was filled. 

As to the pleafure we take in viewing Ruins ; — 
it arifes from two caufes : in the firfl place, they 
are picturefque to the eye ; and, in the next, they 
fugged fublime reflections. It is to be obferved* 
that the object mud be of magnitude ; and then 
to whatever power its deftruction be owing, 
whether to time, or to conflagration, the ideas ex- 
cited are fublime, and Sympathy for the unfeen 
fufFercrs is loft in the admiration of power. Not 
fo where the object is not grand. I once parTed 
through the ruins of a miferable village in France, 
that had been reduced by fire : pity and pecu- 

B b 2 niary 



372 SYMPATHY. [PART III- 

niary contributions were raifed on travellers, but 
the remains of the clay cottages had never been 
the object of a vifit. 

Upon the whole, I cannot think that it is na- 
tural to have any pleafure in the misfortunes and 
pains of others ; and I confefs I am glaid that I 
have found no arguments fufficiently conclusive 
to make me think fo: for while I allow that a 
very great part of our fpecies is degraded and 
corrupt, and that much malignity prevails among 
us, I am anxious to maintain man in that exalted 
Hate where I believe he was originally placed. 
To feel delight in the pain of others difgraces 
him; and (till more is he difgraced by Rochefuu- 
cault's felfifh fentiments, that he comforts others 
folely with the view of being comforted himfelf 
on like occaflons. I believe no fuch proportion. 
I believe Sympathy to be a genuine difpolition of 
the mind, independent of felfiihnefs, by which 
the Almighty has ltrengthened the bonds of lbciai 
affection. I believe it too to be attended in for- 
rowful cafes with pleafure, when accompanied 
with the power, or even the hope, of alleviation. 
I believe that we generally pity, and fear for 
others, inftinctively ; and that when we take 
time to reafon ourfelves into companion, our 
emotions are loft in the cooler wifdom of our 
duties. 



Sect. 



PART III.] SYMPATHY. 373 



Sect. III. 

SYMPATHETIC Fear, or Terror, is a vio- 
lent emotion on perceiving the danger of another, 
and is felt in degrees, according to the fenfibility 
of the heart. He rauft be of a flinty nature in- 
deed, who can with coolnefs fee another feized 
by a devouring monfter, or fuddenly buried un- 
der the ruins of a falling edifice, or ftabbed by 
an aflaffin. Sympathy of this kind felt on real 
occurrences cannot furely be attended with plea- 
fure. If I were permitted to fpeak for a mo- 
ment from my own feelings, I would fay that I 
once, through a tranfparent fea, faw a man 
feized, and carried off by a monftrous fhark — 
my whole frame fuffered great commotion ; but 
certainly I was fenlible only of a moft painful 
agitation. 

Why is it then, that in dramatic poetry we arc 
pleafed with the reprefentations of mournful and 
terrible occurrences ? The fact is, that whether in 
real or imaginary fcenes, it is the province of 
Sympathy to intereft our feelings : but to intereft 
them, it is not neceflary that the refult mould 
be pleafurable. The pain fuffered by another, 
interefts us as well as the pleafure he enjoys 
and perhaps more. Were the brighter!: genius 
on earth to compofe a large folio on the fubjecl:, 
B b 3 I do 



374 SYMPATHY. [PART III, 

I do not think he could difcover a better reafon 
than Terence has given in eight words, " Homo 
Sum, hutnani nihil alienum a me puto." I am a 
man, and therefore muft be interested in what- 
ever concerns a man : I muft, if I am not unna- 
tural, delight in his pleafures, and ache at his 
pains. 

But, as I have already faid, Sympathy will not 
fend us in queft of the latter, nor probably of the 
former, unlefs other caufes concur. A good 
heart will feek opportunities to participate hap- 
pinefs, by being the means of conferring it ; but 
I do not know that the pureft heart would be al- 
lured by any uncommon inftance of individual 
happinefs to become the fpeclator of immoderate 
joy; unlefs it were the reward of virtue, talent, 
or for fome ulterior reafon beyond the actual joy. 
Common fociety, or what is called company, is 
fupported with a view to reciprocal pleafures ; its 
enjoyments are founded on an interchange of 
ideas, or of politenefs ; but with fympathy it is 
little concerned. Sympathy is, indeed, a main 
Support of that uncommon fociety, which is built 
on friendship, virtue, and talents, whence arife 
the higheft Social enjoyments. Yet even by fiich 
fociety thofe only can be allured, who are in a 
great degree deferving of it. To dramatic i'ecn^s 
however, we are all ftrongly impelled ; and 
Strongly aSFecled by them : we are always made 
to love, and to admire the character for whom we 

are 



PART III.] SYMPATHY. 275 

are to be led into grief : we have pleafure in lov- 
ing and admiring, but the pleafure yields, aid is 
abforbed in our fufferings at the miliary that 
enfues. 

It appears to me, that by compounding Mr. 
Burke's objection with Dr. Johnfon's opinion, we 
may probably arrive at the real caufes, as well of 
our fee king, as of our being gratified with, the 
fcenes of tragedy. Dr. Johnlbn fays, u it is be- 
caufe they are fictitious that they pleafe." Mr. 
Burke imagines " we fhould be much miftaken, 
if we attributed any considerable part of our fa- 
tisfaction in tragedy, to the consideration of its 
being a deceit : that the nearer it approaches the 
reality, and the further it removes us from all 
idea of fiction, the more perfect is its power." 
To move the paffions is the grand magic of 
poetry. It is a fublime gift of God to man ; and 
we naturally take great delight in offering our- 
felves to the proof of its operations. 



E un dolce incanto, 




Che d'improvifo 




Vi muove al pianto, 




Vi sforza al rifo # 




D'ardir v' accende 




Tremar vi fa. 




Ah fe alle Mufe 




Tanto e permeflb, 




A Glove ifteffo 




Che reflera ? 


Met. 


Bb 4 


I con 



376 SYMPATHY. ['PART III, 

I conceive that we go to a tragedy, perfectly 
prepared to be delighted with the effect of fic- 
tion ; but that when the powers of the poet con- 
trive to veil that fiction, to realize his fcenes, 
and to wring our hearts, the fympathy upon 
which he works is not a pleafure, but the forrow- 
ful intereft we are bound by nature to take in the 
pain of others ; of which we are mod fufceptible 
in the reality, and which we bring upon ourfelves 
in a theatre, from going in quell of the delight we 
take in the powers of poetry. Let the audience 
be informed, that the actor, who was performing 
Macbeth, had in a fit of fury or revenge abso- 
lutely fought the man who was perfonating Dun- 
can, and had favagely cut his throat, but 
that the play fhould go on with fubftituted cha~ 
acters ; I think the houfe would be thinned. 

The French Revolution produced in London a 
remarkable inJiance of painful, but noble feelings, 
impreffi.ng a large body of men, which does 
honour to the Britifh character. In the year 
1793, when the company of Drury-lane Theatre 
were performing at the Opera Houfe, the news of 
the death of the late King of France arrived in an 
evening, juft as the curtain was going to be drawn 
up. It was immediately announced from the 
ftage, and the whole audience, feeling the fhock 
at once, rofe and left the theatre. — Here, 1 think, 
we have an example, in which delight could not 
be mingled. Thofe noble hearts withdrew, not to 

behold 



FART III.] SYMPATHY, 37J 

behold a fight in the adjoining fquare, but be- 
caufe pleafure was incompatible with the reality 
of horror. 

So true is it that men generally avoid real tragic 
fcenes, when they are convinced that they can 
be of no fcrvice by the exerciie of their virtues, 
and are not led by curioiiry, that we find, as the 
poetic art lofes its dominion over the foul, even 
the beft fcenes of fictitious terror and pity are re- 
prefented at the theatres to thin houfes. The 
prefent cultivated apathy of many, and the blow 
that has been given to the expreffion of fentiment, 
are caufes from which the Tragic Mufe languifhos. 
They, to whom the pain of fympathy is more 
intolerable, than the tafte of genius is delightful, 
improve a happy indifference, and fhun all 
violent emotions : — but we may reft affured, that 
when the pomp of decorations, the horfe-laugh 
of ridicule, and the graces of gefture fupplant the 
powers of poetry, Nature deviates, and tafte de- 
clines. 

I muft add, that however difficult it be to con- 
ceive fenfations of pleafure and of pain co-exift- 
ing, yet as it is the end of poetry to delight by 
moving, the delight flows conflderably from the 
preparatory difpoiition in our natures to be moved 
by the imitative arts ; as we are pleafed with a 
picture, of which perhaps the real object: would 
be difgufting, 

Sect. IV. 



373 WONDER. [PARTIII a 

Sect. IV. 

This grand current of the focial affections, 
Sympathy, depends, in courfe. for its purity upon 
the other ftreams that mingle with it. He who 
fympathifes with the envious, the covetous, the 
revengeful, the malevolent, the coward, the 
cruel, and the proud, may reckon among his own 
pafiions, envy, avarice, revenge, malevolence, 
cowardice, cruelty, and pride. 



CHAPTER XII. 

WONDER, and its Varieties. 

WONDER or Aftonifhment is the emotion 
produced by things uncommonly ftrange. All 
novelty excites this paffion, in a greater or lefs 
degree : and the commencement of life is the 
period of its fulled influence. Then every thing 
is ftrange ; and, for a confiderable time, one 
wonder only yields to another. Experience abates 

the 



fcART III.] WONDER. 3?0 

the emotion, but it is never wholly ftifled : 
youth and age, folly and philofophy, ruilic ig* 
norance and polifhed taile, every ftage of life, 
and every gradation of intellect, are all fupplied 
with objects to gratify Wonder. But while fome 
men continue fo puerile as to feek gratification, if 
not from ordinary, yet from trivial occasions, 
there are fome who have almofl ccafed to wonder, 
even in the fullnefs of Admiration : whofe minds 
have been able to take fo comprehenfive a view 
of the works the Deity has placed before them, as 
to wonder at no effects while they admire and 
adore the great Firft Caufe of all. This kind of 
admiration is an emotion, we may juftly conjecture 
to be attendant upon immortality ; and in this 
view we cannot but efleem it a paffion of the 
higheft character. 

All wonder is natural ; there is no deviation of 
this paffion ; yet mifplaced, it becomes ridiculous 
or difgraceful. The clown, who wonders at the 
movements of a watch, and the mathematician, who 
is furprifed at the nicety of his own calculations 
on the return of a comet, are equally natural ; 
but if the mathematician were to be furprifed at 
the watch it would be a difgrace to him ; and if 
the clown were furprifed that the tail of the comet 
did not fcorch the earth it would be ridiculous. 

It is, in general, advifable to curb AJloniJhment, 
or at leaft the appearance of it ; as, perhaps, 
what creates it in us, is only an ignoranee, that 

would 



380 FROFRIETY [PART III* 

would reflect no credit upon our education. But 
this is a delicate theory ; for it might lead to in- 
difference and infenfibility ; and not to admire, 
where admiration is a proof of tafte, is as degra- 
ding as to be in ecftafies at trifles. Wonder, 
however, is, in every view, an innocent emotion, 
and naturally its own corrector, where it tends to 
be ridiculous. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



PROPRIETY OF THE PASSIONS. 



Of the Degrees of the different PaJJions which 
are covjijlent with Propriety. 

-LrfET us now enquire into the degrees of the 
different paflions which are confident with pro- 
priety, and into the neceflity of Self-command. 
The propriety of every pafTion excited by objects 
peculiarly related to ourfelves, the pitch which 
the fpectator can go along with, mull lie, it is 

evident, 



PART III.] OF THE PASSIONS. 3S1 

evident, in a certain mediocrity. If the paflion is 
too high, or if it is too low, he cannot enter into 
it. Grief and refentment for private misfortunes 
and injuries may eafily, for example, be too high, 
and in the greater part of mankind, they are fo. 
They may likewife, though this more ra^y hap- 
pens, be too low. We denominate the excefs, 
weaknefs and fury : and we call the defect, ftu- 
pidity, infenfibility, and want of fpirit. We can 
enter into neither of them, but are aftonifhed and 
confounded to fee them. 

This mediocrity, however, in which ^he point 
of Propriety confifts, is different in different paf- 
fions. It is high in fome, and low in others. 
There are fome paflions which it is indecent to 
exprefs very ftrongly, even upon thofe occafions 
in which it is acknowledged that we cannot avoid 
feeling them in the higher! degree. And there 
are others of which the ftrongeft expreflions are, 
upon many occafions, extremely graceful, even 
though the paflions themfelves do not, perhaps, 
arife i'o necefTarily. The firft are thole paflions 
with which, for certain reafons, there is little 
or no fympathy : the fecond are thofe with 
which, for other reafons, there is the great- 
eft. And if we confider all the different paf- 
lions of human nature, we fhall find that they are 
regarded as decent or indecent, juft in proportion 
as mankind are more or lei's difpofed to fympathize 
with them. 

Sect. I. 



382 PROPRIETY [PART Hft 

Sect. I. Of the Vajfions which take their Ongbi 
from the Body* 

IT is indecent to exprefs any ftrong degree of 
tliofe paffions which arife from a certain fituation 
or difpofition of the body ; becaufe the company, 
not being in the fame difpofition, cannot be ex- 
pected to fympathize with them. Violent hun- 
ger, for example, though upon many occafions 
not only natural, but unavoidable, is always inde- 
cent, and to eat voracioufly is univerfally regarded 
as a piece of ill-manners. There is, however, 
fome degree of fympathy, even with hunger. It 
is agreeable to fee our companions eat with a good 
appetite, and all expreflions of loathing are offen- 
five. The diipofition of body which is habitual 
to a man in health, makes his ftomach eafily keep 
time, if I may be allowed lb coarfe an expreflion, 
with the one, and not with the other. We can 
fympathize with the diltrefs which excefiive hun- 
ger occafions when we read the defcription of it in 
the journal of a liege, or of a lea voyage. We 
imagine ourlelves in the lituation of the fufYerers, 
and thence readily conceive the grief, the fear, 
and condensation which mult neceilanly diitracl 
them. We feel, ourlelves, lbme degree of thofe 
paflions, and therefore fympathize with them: 
but as we do not grow hungry by reading the de- 

fcriptioa, 



PART IIIw] OF THE PASSIONS. 383 

fcription, we cannot properly, even in this cafe, 
be faid to fympathize with their hunger. 

Such is our averfion for all the appetites which 
take their origin from the body that all ftrong ex- 
preffions of them are loathfbme and difagreeable. 
According to fome ancient philofophers, thefe are 
the paffions which we fhare in common with the 
brutes, and which having no connexion with the 
characteriflical qualities of human nature, are 
upon that account beneath its dignity. But there 
are many other paffions which we fhare in com- 
mon with the brutes, fuch as refentment, natural 
affection, and even gratitude, which do not, upon 
that account, appear to be fo brutal. The true 
caufeofthe peculiar difgufl which we conceive 
for the appetites of the body when we fee them in 
other men, is that we cannot enter into them. 
To the perfon himfelf who feels them, as foon as 
they are gratified, the object that excited them 
ceafes to be agreeable : even its prefence often 
becomes offeniive to him ; he looks round to no 
purpofe for the charm which traniported him the 
moment before, and now he can as little enter into 
his own paffion as another perfon. When we 
have dined, we order the covers to be removed . 
and we fhould treat in the lame manner the ob- 
jects of the moll ardent and paffionate defires, if 
they were the objects of no other paffions but 
thofe which take their origin from the body. 

In 



S84 FROPRlfeTY [PART III. 

In the command of thofe appetites of the body 
confifts that virtue which is properly called tem- 
perance. To reflrain them within thofe bounds, 
which regard to health and fortune prescribes, is 
the part of prudence. But to confine them 
within thofe limits, which grace, which propriety, 
which delicacy, and modefty require, is the of- 
fice of temperance. 

It is for the fame reafon that to cry out with 
bodily pain, how intolerable foever, appears al- 
ways unmanly and unbecoming. There is, how- 
ever, a good deal of fympathy with bodily pain. 
If I fee a ftroke aimed, andjuft ready to fall upon 
the leg or arm of another pcrfon, I naturally fhrink 
and draw back my own leg, or my own arm : and 
when it does fall, I feel it in fome meafure, and 
am hurt by it as well as the fufferer. My hurt, 
however, is, no doubt, exceflively flight, and, 
upon that account, if he makes any violent out- 
cry, as I cannot go along with him, I never fail to 
defpife him. And this is the cafe of all the paf- 
fions which take their origin from the body : 
they excite either no fympathy at all, or fuch a 
degree of it, as is altogether dilproportioned to 
the violence of what is felt by the fufferer. 

It is quite othenvife with thofe paflions which 
take their origin from the imagination. The 
frame of my body can be but little affected by 
the alterations which are brought about upon 
that of my companion : but my imagination is 

more 



I*ART III/) OF THE PASSIONS. 3S5 

more ductile, and more readily aflumes, if I may 
fay fo, the fhape and configuration of the ima- 
ginations of thofe with whom I am familiar. A 
difappointment in love, or ambition, will, upon 
this account, call forth more fympathy than the 
greateft bodily evil. Thofe paflions arife altoge- 
ther from the imagination. The perfoh who has 
loft his whole fortune, if he is in health, feels no- 
thing in his body. What he fufTers is from the 
imagination only, which reprefents to him the 
lofs of his dignity, neglect from his friends, con- 
tempt from his enemies, dependence, want, and 
mifery, coming fall upon him ; and we fympa- 
thize with him, more llrongly upon this account, 
becaufe our imaginations can more readily mould 
themfelves upon his imagination, than our bodies' 
cafi mould themfelves upon his body. 

The lofs of a leg may generally be regarded as 
a more real calamity than the lofs of a miftrefs. It 
would be a ridiculous tragedy, however, of which 
the cataftrophe was to turn upon a lofs of that 
kind. A misfortune of the other kind, how fri- 
volous fbever it may appear to be, has given oc- 
caiion to many a line one. 

Nothing is fo ibon forgotten as pain. The mo- 
ment it is gone, the whole agony of it is over, and 
the thought of it can no longer give us any fort of 
diihirbance. We ourfelves cannot then enter into 
the anxiety and anguifh which we had before con- 
ceived. 



3b6 PROPRIETY [PART III; 

ceived. An unguarded word frorn a friend will 
occafion a more durable uneafinefs. The agony 
which this creates is by no means over with the 
word. What at firfi difturbs us is not the object 
©f the fenfes, but the idea of the imagination. As 
it is an idea, therefore, which occasions our un- 
eafinefs, till time and other accidents have in fome 
meal lire effaced it from our memory, the imagi- 
nation continues to fret and rankle within, from 
the thought of it. 

Pain never calls forth any very lively fympathy 
unlefs it is accompanied with danger. We fym- 
pathize with the fear, though not with the agony 
of the fufFerer. Fear, however, is a paffion de- 
rived altogether from the imagination, which re- 
prefents, with an uncertainty and fluctuation that 
increafes our anxiety, not what we really feel, but 
what we may hereafter poflibly fuffer. The gout 
or the tooth-ach, though exquifitely painful, ex- 
cite very little fympathy ; more dangerous dif- 
eafes, though accompanied with very little pain, 
excite the higheft. 

Some people faint and grow fick at the fight of 
a chirurgical operation, and that bodily pain 
which isoccalioned by tearing the flefh, ieems, in 
them, to excite the moil excefiive fympathy. We 
conceive in a much more lively and diitincl man- 
ner the pain which proceeds from an external 
caufe, than we do that which arifes from an inter- 
nal 



tfART tit.] OF THE PASSIONS. 337 

hal diforder. I can fcarcely form an idea of the 
agonies of my neighbour when he is tortured with 
the gout or the ftone ; but I have the cleared con- 
ception of what he mud fuffer from an incifion, a 
wound, or a fracture. The chief caufe, however, 
why fuch objects produce fuch violent effects 
upon us, is their novelty. One who has been 
witnefs to a dozen diffections, and as many am- 
putations, fees, ever after, all operations of this 
kind with great indifference, and often with per- 
fect infenfibility. Though we have read or ken 
reprefented more than five hundred tragedies, we 
fhall feldom feel fo entire an abatement of our 
fenlibility to the objects which they reprefent 
to us. 

In fome of the Greek tragedies there is an at- 
tempt to excite compaffion, by the reprefentation 
of the agonies of bodily pain. Philoctetes cries 
out and faints from the extremity of his fuffer ings. 
Hippolytus and Hercules are both introduced as 
expiring under the fevereft tortures, which, it 
feems, even the fortitude of Hercules was incapa- 
ble of fupporting. In all thefe cafes, however, it 
is not the pain which interefts us, but fome other 
circumitanee. It is not thr fore foot, but the fo- 
litude, of Philoctetes which affects us, and dif- 
fufes over that charming tragedy, that romantic 
wildnefs, which is fo agreeable to the imagination / 
The agonies of Hercules and Hippolytus are in- 
C c 2 t ere fling 



388 



PROPRIETY 



[PART I'll. 

terefting only becaufe we forefee that death is_to be 
the confequence. If thofe heroes were to recover, 
we fhould think the reprefentation of their iuffer- 
ings perfectly ridiculous. What a tragedy would 
that be, of which the diftrefs confiited in a 
cholic ! Yet no pain is more exquiiite. Thefe 
attempts to excite compaffion by the reprefenta- 
tion of bodily pain, may be regarded as among the 
greateft breaches of decorum of which the Greek 
theatre has fet the example. 

The little fympathy which we feel with bodily 
pain is the foundation of the propriety of conftancy 
and patience in enduring it. The man, who under 
the fevereft tortures allows no weaknefs to efcape 
him, vents no groan, gives way to no palHon 
which we do not entirely enter into, commands 
our higheft admiration. His rirmnefs enables him 
to keep time with our indifference and infenfibi- 
lity. We admire and entirely go along with the 
magnanimous effort which he makes for this pur- 
pofe. We approve of his behaviour, and from 
our experience of the common weaknefs of human 
nature, we are furpnled, and wonder how he 
fhould be able to a<ft fo as to deferve approbation. 
Approbation, mixed and animated by wonder and 
furprize, conltitutes the ientiment which is pro- 
perly called admiration, of which, applaule is the 
natural cxprelfion, as has already been obferved. 



Sect. II. 



I 

PAltT III.] OF THE PASSIONS. 389 



-i 



Sect. II. Of thofe PaJ/ons which take their 
Origin from a particular Turn or Habit of the 

Imagination. 

EVEN of the pafhons derived from the 
imagination, thofc which take their origin from a 
peculiar turn or habit it has acquired, though 
they may be acknowledged to be perfectly natural, 
are, however, but little fympathi zed with. The 
imaginations of mankind, not having acquired 
that particular turn, cannot enter into them ; and 
fuch paffions, though they may be allowed to be 
almoft unavoidable in fome part of life, are al- 
ways, in fome meafure, ridiculous. This is the 
cafe with that ftrong attachment which naturally 
grows up between two perfons of different fexes, 
who have long fixed their thoughts upon one 
another. Our imagination not having run in the 
fame channel with that of the lover, we cannot 
enter into the eagernefs of his emotions. If our 
friend has been injured, we readily fympathize 
with his refentment, and grow angry with the 
very perfon with whom he is angry. If he has 
received a benefit, we readily enter into his 
gratitude, and have a very high fenfe of the merit 
of his benefactor. But if he is in love, though 
we may think his pailion juft as reafonable as any 
of the kind, yet we never think ourfelves bound 
to conceive a paffion of the fame kind, and for 

C c 3 the 



3Q0 PROPRIETY L PARTIIIj 

the fame perfon for whom he has conceived it. 
The paffion appears to every body, but the man 
who feels it, entirely difprcportioned to the value 
of the object; and love, though it is pardoned in 
a certain age becaufe we know it is natural, is al- 
ways laughed at, becaufe we cannot enter into it. 
All ferious and ftrong expreffions of it appear 
ridiculous to a third perfon ; and though a lover 
may be good company to his miftrefs, he is fo to 
nobody el lb. He himfelf is fenfible of this ; 
and as long as he continues in his fober fenfes, 
endeavours to treat his own paffion with raillery 
and ridicule. It is the only ftyle in which we 
care to hear of it ; becaufe it is the only ftyle in 
which we ourfelves are dilpofed to talk of it. We 
grow weary of the grave, pedantic, and long-fen- 
ten ced love of Cowley and Petrarch, who never 
have done with exaggerating the violence of their 
attachments ; but the gaiety of Ovid, and the 
gallantry of Horace, are always agreeable. 

But though we feel no proper fympathy with 
an attachment of this kind, though we never ap- 
proach even in imagination towards conceiving a 
paffion for that particular perfon, yet as we either 
have conceived, or may be dilpofed to cone- 
paifions of the fame kind, we readily enter into 
thofe high hopes of happinefs which are propofed 
from its gratification, as well as into that exquifite 
diftrefs which is feared from its difrppointment. 

It 



PART III.] OF THE PASSIONS. ?,[)\ 

It interefts us not as a paffion, but as a filiation 
that gives occafion to other paffions which intereft 
us ; to hope, to fear, and to diflrefs of every 
kind : in the fame manner as in a defcription of 
a fea voyage, it is not the hunger which interefts 
us, but the diflrefs which that hunger occafions. 
Though we do not properly enter into the attach- 
ment of the lover, we readily go along with thofe 
expectations of romantic happinefs which he de- 
rives from it. We feel how natural it is for the 
mind, in a ceitain fituation, relaxed with in- 
dolence, and fatigued with the violence of defire, 
to long for ferenity and quiet, to hope to find 
them in the gratification of that paffion which 
diffracts it, and to frame to itfelf the idea of that 
life of paftoral tranquillity and retirement which 
the elegant, the tender, and paffionate Tibullus 
takes fo much pleafure in defcribing ; a life like 
what the poets defcribe in the Fortunate Iflands, 
a life of friendfhip, liberty, and repofe ; free 
from labour, and from care, and from all the tur- 
bulent paffions which attend them. Even fcencs 
of this kind intereft us moft, when they are paint- 
ed rather as what is hoped, than as what is en- 
joyed. The happy paffion interefts us much lefs 
than the fearful and the melancholy. We trem- 
ble for whatever can difappoint fuch natural 
and agreeable hopes : and thus enter into all 
the anxiety, and concern, and diflrefs of the 
lover. 

C c 4 Of 



392 PROPRIETY [PART III. 

Of all the paffions, however, which are fo ex- 
travagantly difproportioned to the value of their 
objects, love is the only one that appears, even to 
the weaker! minds, to have any thing in it that is 
either graceful or agreeable. In itfelf, firft of 
all, though it may be ridiculous, it is not natu- 
rally odious: °< n h its confcquenccs are 
often fatal and dre; ,u. us intentions are leldom 
mifchievous. And then, though there is little 
propriety in the paffion itfelf, tl ere is a good deal 
in fome of thoi'e which always accompany it. 
There is in love a ftrong mixture of hu inanity, 
generality, kindnefs, friendlhip, efteem ; patiions 
with which, of all others, for . which lhall 
be explained immediately, we have the greatell 
propenfity I p ithize, even notwithstanding 
we are fenfible that they are, in fome meaiure, 
exceffive. Notwithstanding all this, 'he degree 
of fenfibility and generofity with which it is fup- 
pofed to be accompanied, renders it to many the 
object of vanity ; and they are fond of appearing 
capable of feeling what would do them no hor> 
if they had really felt it. 

Iteis tor a reafon of the fame kind, I :r- 

tain reicrve is neccil'iry when we talk oi our own 
friends, our own ftudies, our own profeflio 
All thefe are objedbfi which we cannot 
fhould intereit our companions in the fame 
grec in which they intereit us. And it is for 
want of this releive, that the one half of mankind 

ma 



PART III.] OF THE PASSIONS. 393 

make bad company to the other. A philofo- 
pher is company to a philofopher only ; the 
member of a club to his own little knot of com- 
panions. 



Sect. III. Of the unf octal Pajflons. 

THERE is another fet of paffions, which, 
though derived from the imagination, yet before 
we can enter into them, or regard them as grace- 
ful or becoming, muft always be brought down 
to a pitch much lower than that to which undif- 
ciplined nature would raife them. Thefe are, 
hatred and refentment, with all their different 
modifications. With regard to all fuch paffions, 
our fympathy is divided between the perfon who 
feels them, and the perfon who is the object of 
them. The interefls of thefe two are directly op- 
polite. What our fympathy with the perfon 
who feels them would prompt us to wifh for, 
our fellow-feeling with the other would lead us to 
fear. As they are both men, we are concerned 
for both, and our fear for what the one may fuf- 
fer, damps our refentment for what the other has 
fuffered. Our fympathy, therefore, with the 
man who has received the provocation, necefTa- 
rily falls fhort of the paffion which naturally ani- 
mates him, not only upon account of thofe ge- 
neral caufes which render all fympathetic paffions 

inferior 



394 PROPRIETY [PART III, 

inferior to the original ones, but upon account of 
that particular caufe which is peculiar to ilfelf, 
our oppofite fympathy with another perfon. Be- 
fore refentment, therefore, can become graceful 
and agreeable, it mufl be more humbled, and 
brought down below that pitch to which it would 
naturally rife, than almofl any other paffion. 

Mankind, at the fame time, have a very ftrong 
fenfe of the injuries that are done to another. The 
villain, in a tragedy or romance, is as much the 
object of our indignation, as the hero is that of our 
fympathy and affection. We deteft Iago as much 
as we erleem Othello ; and delight as much in the 
punifhment of the one, as we are grieved at the 
diltrefs of the other. But though mankind have 
fo itrong a fellow-feeling with jhe injuries that are 
done to their brethren, they do not always refent 
them the more that the fulferer appears to relent 
them. Upon moft occalions, the greater his pa- 
tience, his mildnefs, his humanity, provided it 
does not appear that he wants fpirit, or that fear 
was the motive of his forbearance, the higher the 
refentment againft the perfon who injured him. 
The amiablenefs of the character cxafperates their 
fenfe of the atrocity of the injury. 

Thefe paiiions, however, are regarded as necef- 
faxy parts of the character of human nature. A 
perfon becomes contemptible who tamely lits ftill, 
without attempting either, to repel or to revenge 
:hem. We cannot enter into his indifference and 

infenfibility ; 



PART III.] OF THE PASSIONS, 3Q5 

infenfibility : we call his behaviour mean-fpirited- 
nefs, and are as really provoked by it as by the 
jnfolence of his adverfary. Even the mob are en- 
raged to fee any man fubmit patiently to affronts 
and ill-ufage. They defire to fee this infolencc 
re fen ted, and refented by the perfon who fufFers 
from it. They cry to him with fury, to defend, 
or to revenge hi mfelf. If his indignation roufes 
at laft, they heartily applaud and fympathize 
with it. It enlivens their own indignation againft 
his enemy, whom they rejoice to fee him attack in 
turn, and are as really gratified by his revenge 
provided it is not immoderate, as if the injury had 
been done to themfelves. 

But though the utility of thofe pailions to the 
individual, by rendering it dangerous to infult or 
injure him, be acknowledged; and though their 
utility to the public, as the guardian of juftice, 
and of the equality of its adminiftration, be not 
lefs considerable, yet there is Hill fomething difa- 
greeable in the pailions themfelves, which makes 
the appearance of them in other men the natural 
object of our averflon. The expreffion of anger 
towards any body preient, if it exceeds a bare in- 
timation that we are fenfible of his ill ufage, is re«* 
garded not only as an infult to that particular per- 
form but as a rudenefs to the whole company". 
Refpecl for them ought to have reftrained us 
from giving way to fo boitterous and offenfive an 
emotion. It is the remote effects of thefe paflions 

which 



396 PROPRIETY [PARTIJI. 

which are agreeable; the immediate effects are 
miichief to the perfon againft whom they are di- 
rected. But it is the immediate, and not the re- 
mote effects of objects which render them agreea- 
ble or difagreeabie to the imagination. A prifon 
is certainly more ufefu'J to the public than a pa- 
lace ; and the perfon who founds the one is gene- 
rally directed by a much jufjrer fpirit of patriotifm, 
than he who builds the other. But the immedi- 
ate effects of a prifon, the confinement of the 
wretches fhut up in it, are difagreeabie, and the 
imagination either does not take time to trace out 
the remote ones, or fees them at too great a 
diftance to be much affected by them. A prifon, 
therefore, will always be a difagreeabie object ; 
and the fitter it is for the purpofe for which it was 
intended, it will be the more fo. A palace, on 
the contrary, will always be agreeable ; yet its 
remote effects may often be inconvenient to the 
public. It may ferve to promote luxury, and fet 
the example of the diffolution of manners. Its 
immediate effects, however, the conveniency, 
the plea lure, and the gaiety of the people who live 
in it, being all agreeable, and fuggefting to the 
imagination a thoufand agreeable ideas, that fa- 
culty generally re its upon them, and feldom goes 
farther in tracing its more diftant confequences. 
Trophies of the inftruments of muiic or of agri- 
culture, imitated in painting or in ftucco, make a 
common and an agreeable ornament of our halls 

and 



PART III.] OF TtlE PASSIONS. 3§7 

and dining rooms. A trophy of the fame kind, 
compofed of the inftruments of furgery, of diffcct- 
ing and amputation knives, of faws for cutting 
the bones, of trepanning inftruments, &c. would 
be abfurd and fhocking. Inftruments of furgery, 
however, are always more finely polifhed, and 
generally more nicely adapted to the purpofes for 
which they are intended, than inftruments of agri- 
culture. The remote effects of them too, the 
health of the patient, is agreeable ; yet as the im- 
mediate effect of them is pain and fuffering, the 
light of them always difpleafes us. Inftruments 
.of war are agreeable, though their immediate ef- 
fect may feem to be in the fame manner pain and 
fuffering. But then it is the pain and fuffering of 
our enemies, with whom we have no fympathy. 
With regard to us, they are immediately con- 
nected with the agreeable ideas of courage, victo- 
ry, and honour. They are themfelves, therefore, 
fuppofed to make one of the nobleft parts of drefs, 
and the imitation of them one of the fineft orna- 
ments of architecture. It is the fame cafe with 
the qualities of the mind. The ancient ftoics 
were of opinion, that as the world was governed 
by the all-ruling providence of a wile, powerful, 
and good God, every fingle event ought to be re- 
garded, as making a neceffary part of the plan of 
the univerfe, and as tending to promote the gene- 
ral order and happinefs of the whole : that the 
vices and follies of mankind., therefore, made as 

ne cellar v 



398 PROPRIETY [PART lit. 

necevlary a part of this plan as their wifdom or 
their virtue ; and by that eternal arc which educes 
good from ill, were made to tend equally to the 
profperiry and perfection of the great fyftem of 
nature. No fpeculation of this kind, however, 
how deeply foever it might be rooted in the mind, 
could diminifh our natural abhorrence of vice, 
whofe immediate effects are fo deftrudtive, and 
whofe remote ones are too diftant to be traced by 
the imagination. 

It is the*fame cafe with thofe paflions we have 
been juft now confidering. Their immediate ef- 
fects are ib difagreeable, that even when they are 
mod juftly provoked, there is ftill fomething 
about them which difgufts us. Thefe, therefore, 
are the only paflions of which the exprellions, as 
I formerly obferved, do not difpofe and prepare us 
to fympathize with them, before we are informed 
of the caufc which excites them. The plaintive 
voice of mifery, when heard at a diftance, will 
not allow us to be indifferent about the perfon 
from whom it comes. As toon as it ftrikes our 
ear, it interefts us in his fortune, and, if conti- 
nued, forces us almoit involuntarily to fly to his 
afilitance. The, fight of a lmiling countenance, 
in the fame manner, elevates even the penfive 
into thai gay and airy mood, which difpoies him 
to iym with, and fhare the joy which it 

exprelTesT and he feels his heart, which with 
thought and care was bt:l>rc that fhrunk and 

depreiicd- 



PART III.] OP THE PASSIONS. 399 

deprefTed, inftantly expanded and elated. But it 
is quite otherwife with the expreffions of hatred 
and refentment. The hoarfe, boifterous, and dif- 
cordant voice of anger, when heard at a diftance, 
infpires us either with fear or averfion. We do 
not fly towards it, as to one who cries out with 
pain and agony. Women, and men of weak 
nerves, tremble and are overcome with fear, 
though fenfible that themfelves are not the objects 
of the anger. They conceive fear, however, by 
putting themfelves in the fituation of the perfon 
who is fo. Even thofe of flouter hearts are dis- 
turbed ; not indeed enough to make them afraid 
but enough to make them angry ; for anger is the 
paffion which they would feel in the fituation of 
the other perfon. It is the fame cafe with hatred. 
Mere expreffions of fpite infpire it againft nobody, 
but the man who ufes them. Both thefe paffions 
are by nature the objects of our averfion. Their 
difagreeable and boifterous appearance never ex- 
cites, never prepares, and often dilturbs our fym- 
pathy. Grief does not more powerfully engage 
and attract us to the perfon in whom we oblerve 
it, than thefe, while we are ignorant of the caufe. 
dilguft and detach us from him. It was, it feems, 
the intention of Nature, that thofe rougher and 
more unamiable emotions, which drive men from 
one another, mould be lefs eafily and more rarely 
communicated. 

When 



400 PROPRIETY [PART III. 

When mulic imitates the modulations of grief 
or joy, it either actually infpires with thofe paf- 
fions, or at leaft puts us in the mood which dif- 
pofes us to conceive them. But when it imitates 
the notes of anger, it infpires us with fear. Joy, 
grief, love, admiration, devotion, are all of them 
paiTions which are naturally mufical. Their na- 
tural tones are all foft, clear, and melodious ; and 
they naturally exprefs themlelves in periods which 
are diftinguifhed by regular paufes, and which up- 
on that account are eafily adapted to the regular 
returns of the correlpondent airs of a tune. The 
voice of anger, on the contrary, and of all the 
paiTions which are akin to it, is harm and dil- 
cordant. Its periods too are all irregular, fome- 
times very long, and fometimes very fhort, and 
diftinguifhed by no regular paufes. It is with 
difficulty, therefore, that mulic can imitate any 
of thofe pa'lions ; and the mulic which does 
imitate them is not the molt agreeable. A whole 
entertainment may conllit, without any impro- 
priety, of the imitation of the focial and agree- 
able pailions. It. would be a llrange entertain- 
ment which coniiiled altogether of the imitations 
of hatred and relentment. 

If thofe paihons are dilagreeable to the fpecla- 
tor they are not left io to the perfon who feels 
them. Hatred and anger are the greateft poifon 
to the happincls ot" a good mind. There is. in 

the 



PART III.] OF THF PASSIONS. 401 

the very feeling of thofe paffions, fomething 
harfh, jarring, and convulfive, fomething that 
tears and dliTracls the breaft^ and is altogether 
deftructive of that compofure and tranquillity of 
mind, which is {o necefTary to happineis, and 
which is beft promoted by the contrary paffions 
of gratitude and love. It is not the value of 
what they lofe by the perfidy and ingratitude of 
thofe they live with, which the generous and hu- 
mane are moft apt to regret. Whatever they 
may have loft, they can generally be very happy 
without it. What moft difturbs them is the 
idea of perfidy and ingratitude exercifed towards 
themfelves ; and the difcordant and difagreeable 
paflions which this excites, conftitute, in their 
own opinion, the chief part of the injury which 
they fuffer. 

How many things are requifite to render the 
gratification of refentment completely agreeable, 
and to make the fpectator thoroughly fympathize 
with our revenge ? The provocation muft firft 
of all be fuch that we fhould become contempti- 
ble, and be expofed to perpetual infults, if we 
did not, in fome meafure, refent it. Smaller of- 
fences are always better neglected : nor is there 
any thing more defpieable than that fro ward and 
captious humour which takes fire upon every 
flight occafion of quarrel. We mould refent 
more from a fenfe of the propriety of refentment, 
from a fenfe that mankind expect and require it 

Dd of 



402 PROPRIETY [PART III. 

of us, than becaufe we feel in ourfelves the furies 
of that difagreeable paffion. There is no paffion, 
of which the human mind is capable, concerning 
vvhofe juftnefs we ought to be fo doubtful, con- 
cerning whofe indulgence we ought fo carefully 
to confult our natural fenfe of Propriety, or fo di- 
ligently to coniider what will be the fentiments 
of the cool and impartial fpectator. Magna- 
nimity, or a regard to maintain our own rank 
and dignity in fociety, is the only motive which 
can ennoble the expreffions of this difagreeable 
paffion. This motive muft characterize our 
whole ftyle and deportment. Thefe muft be 
plain, open, and direct ; determined without po- 
fitivenefs, and elevated without infolencc ; not 
only free from petulance and low fcurrility, but 
generous, candid, and full of all proper regards, 
even for the perfon who has offended us. It 
muft appear, in fhort, from our whole manner, 
without our labouring affectedly to exprefs it, 
that paffion has not extinguifhed our humanity; 
and that if we yield to the dictates of revenge, it 
is with reluctance, from neceffity, and in confe- 
quence of grcnt and repeated provocations. 
When refentment is guarded and cjuaiified in this 
manner, it may be admitted to be even generous 
and noble. 



Sect, IV 



PART III,] OP THE PASSIONS. 403 

Se c t. I V. Of the facial PaJJions. 

AS it is a divided fympathy which renders the 
whole fet of pafiions juft now mentioned, upon 
mofl occafions, fo ungraceful and di (agreeable ; 
fo there is another fet oppolite to thefe, which a 
redoubled fympathy renders almofl always pecu- 
liarly agreeable and becoming. Generofity, hu- 
manity, kindnefs, companion, mutual friendfhip, 
and efteem, all the focial and benevolent affec- 
tions, when exprefTed in the countenance or be- 
haviour, even towards thofe who are not peculiarly 
connected with ourfelves, pleafe the indifferent 
fpectator upon almofl every occafion. His fym- 
pathy with the perfon who feels thofe pafiions 
exactly coincides with his concern for the perfon 
who is the object of them. The interefl, which, 
as a man, he is obliged to take in the happinefs 
of this lafl, enlivens his fellow-feeling with the 
fentiments of the other, whofe emotions are em- 
ployed about the fame object. We have always, , 
therefore, the ftrongefl difpofition to fympathize 
with the benevolent .affections. They appear in 
every refpect agreeable to us. We enter into the 
i'a/^faction both of the perfon who feels them, 
and of the perfon who is the object of them. For 
as to be the object of hatred and indignation 
gives more pain than all the evil which a brave 
man can fear from his enemies; fb there is a 
Dd a fatisfaction 



404 PROPRIETY {PART III. 

fatisfaction in the confcioufnefs of being beloved, 
which, to a perfon of delicacy and fenfibility, is 
of more importance to happinefs than all the ad- 
vantage which he can expect to derive from it. 
What character is fo deteftable as that of one 
who- takes pleafure to fow difTenfion among friends, 
and to turn their moil; tender love into mortal 
hatred ? Yet wherein does the atrocity of this 
fo much abhorred injury confift ? Is it in de- 
priving them of the frivolous good offices, which, 
had their friendfhip continued, they might have 
expected from one another ? It is in depriving 
them of that friendfhip itfelf, in robbing them of 
each other's affections, from which both derived 
fo much fatisfaction ; it is in difturbing the har- 
mony of their hearts, and putting an end to that 
happy commerce which had before fubfifted be- 
tween them. Theie affections, th.it harmony, 
this commerce, arc fell) not only by the tender 
and the delicate, but by the rudeft vulgar of 
mankind, to be of more importance to happinefs 
than all the little Cervices which could be expect- 
ed to flow from them. 

The fentiment of love is, in itfelf, agreeable 
to the perlon who feels it. It foot lies and corn- 
poles the breaft, feems to favour the vital motic 
and to promote the heathful ftate of the human 
conftitution ; and it is rendered ftUl more de- 
lightful by the confcioufnefs of the gratitude and 
iatisiaetion which it muft excite in him who is the 

object 



FART III.] OF THE TASSIONS. 405 

object of it;. Their mutual regard renders them 
iiappy in one another, and fympathy, with this 
mutual regard, makes them agreeable to every 
other pcrfon. With what pleafure do we look 
upon a family through the whole of which reign 
mutual love and efteem, where the parents and 
children are companions for one another, without 
any other difference than what is made by re- 
fpedlful affection on the one fide, and kind in- 
dulgence on the other ; where freedom and fond- 
nefs, mutual raillery and mutual kindnefs, fhow 
that no oppofition of intereft divides the brothers, 
nor any rivalfhip of favour fets the lifters at vari- 
ance, and where every thing prelents us with the 
idea of peace, cheerfulnefs, harmony, and content- 
ment ? On the contrary, how uneafy are we made 
when we go into a houfe in which jarring conten 
tion fets one half of thofe who dwell in it againft 
the other ; where, amidft affected fmoothnefs and 
complaifance, fufpicious looks and fudden Harts 
of pallion betray the mutual jealoufies which 
burn within them, and which are every moment 
ready to burft out through all the reftraints which 
the prefence of the company impofes ? 

Thoie amiable paffions, even when they are 
acknowledged to be excefiive, are never regarded 
with averfion. There is fomething agreeable 
even in the weaknefs of friend (hip and humanity. 
The too tender mother, and the too indulgent 
D d 3 father, 



406 PROPRIETY [PART IIt» 

father, the too generous and affectionate friend, 
ttiay fometimes, perhaps, on account of the foft- 
nefs of their natures, be looked upon with a fpecies 
of pity, in which, however, there is a mixture of 
love ; but can never be regarded with hatred and 
averlion, nor even with contempt, unlefs by the 
rnoft brutal anr 1 .vorthlefs of mankind. It is al- 
ways with cone :rn, with fympathy and kindnefs, 
that we blame them for the extravagance of their 
attachment. There is a helpleilhefs in the cha- 
racter of extreme humanity which more than any- 
thing interefts our pity. There is nothing in itfelf 
which renders it either ungraceful or dilagreeable. 
We only regret that it is unfit for the world, be- 
caufe the world is unworthy of it, and becaufe it 
muft expofe the perfon who is endued with i: as 
a prey to the perridv and ingratitude of infinuating 
falfehood, and to a thoufand pains and uneafineiTes, 
which, of all men, he the leaft defer ves to feel, 
and which generally too he is, of all men, the leaft 
capable of fupporting. It is quite otherwife with 
hatred and relentment. Too violent a propenfity 
to thofe deteftable pafiions, renders a perfon the 
object of univerfal dread and abhorrence, who, 
like a wild beaft, ought, we think, to be hunted 
emt of all civil fociety. 



Seci 






PART III.] OF THE PASSIONS. A07 

Sect. V. Of the felfijli Paflions. 

BESIDES tbofe two oppofitc fets of paffions, 
the focial and unsocial, there is another which 
holds a fort of middle place between them ; is 
never either fo graceful as is fometimes the one 
let, nor is ever fo odious as is fometimes the other. 
Grief and joy, when conceived upon account of 
our own private good or bad fortune, conftitute 
this third fet of paflions. Even when exceffive, 
they are never fo difagreeable as exceffive refent<- 
ment, becaufe no oppofite fympathy can ever in- 
tereft us againft them . and when moil fuitable to 
their objects, they are never fo agreeable as im- 
partial humanity and jufi benevolence ; becaufe 
no double fympathy can ever intereft us for them, 
There is, however, this difference between grief 
and joy, that we are generally moft difpofed to 
fympathize with fmall joys and great forrows. 
The man who, by fome fudden revolution of for- 
tune, is lifted up all at once into a condition of 
life, greatly above what he had formerly lived in, 
may be allured that the congratulations of his bell 
friends are not all of them perfectly fincere. An 
upftart, though of the greateft merit, is generally 
difagreeable, and a fentiment of envy commonly 
prevents us from heartily fympathizing with his 
joy. If he has any judgment, he is fenfible of 
this, and, in Read of appearing to be elated with 

D d 4 " hia 



408 PROPRIETY [PART IIT f 

his good fortune, he endeavours, as much as he 
can, to {mother his joy, and keep down that ele- 
vation of mind with which his new circumftances 
naturally infpire him. He affects the fame plain- 
nefs of drefs, and the lame modeity of behaviour, 
which became him in his former ftation. He re- 
doubles his attention to his old friends, and en- 
deavours more than ever to be humble, affiduous, 
and complaifant. And this is the behaviour which 
in his htuation we moil approve of; becaufe we 
expect, it feems, that he fhould ha\e more fvm- 
pathy with our envy and averfion to his happi- 
nefs, than we have to his happinefs. It is feldom 
that with all this he fucceeds. We fufpecl the 
fincerity of Lis humility, and he grows weary of 
this conftraint. In a lirtle time, therefore, he ge- 
nerally leaves all his old friends behind him, fome 
of the meaneft of them excepted, who may, per- 
haps, condefcend to become his dependants : nor 
does he always acquire any new ones ; the pride 
of his new connections is as much affronted at 
finding him their equal, as that of his old ones 
had been by his becoming their fuperior: and it 
requires the moil obftinate and perfevering mo- 
deity to atone for this mortification to eir 
He generally grows weary too (boh, and is pro\ oked, 
by the fullen and fufpicious pride of the one. and 
by the faucy contempt of the other, to treat the 
firft with neglect, and the fecond with petulance, 
till at lafi he grows habitually infolent, auid fori" 

tie 



PART III.] OF THE PASSIONS, 40& 

the efteem of all. If the chief part of human 
happinefs arifes from the confcioufnefs of being 
beloved, as I believe it does, thole fudden changes 
of fortune feldom contribute much to happinefs. 
He is happieft who advances more gradually to 
greatnefs, whom the public deftines to every ftep 
of his preferment long before he arrives at it, in 
whom, upon that account, when it comes, it can 
excite no extravagant joy, and with regard to 
whom it cannot reafonably create either any jea * 
loufy in thofe he overtakes, or any envy in thofe 
he leaves behind. 

Mankind, however, more readily fympathize 
with thofe fmaller joys which flow from lefs im- 
portant caufes. It is decent to be humble amidft 
great profperity ; but we can fcarce exprefs too 
much fatisfaclion in all the little occurrences of 
common life, in the company with which we fpent 
the evening laft night, in the entertainment that 
was fet before us, in what was faid and what was 
done, in all the little incidents of the prefent con- 
verfation, and in all thofe frivolous nothings which 
fill up the void of human life. " Nothing is more 
graceful than habitual cheerfulnefs, which is al- 
ways founded upon a peculiar relifli for all the 
little pleafures which common occurrences afford. 
We readily fympathize with it : it infpires us with 
the lame joy, and makes every trifle turn up to us 
in the fame agreeable afpect in which it prefents 
itfelf to the perfon endowed with this happy dif- 

pofition. 



410 PROPRIETY [PART UU 

pofition. Hence it is that youth, the feafon of 
gaiety, fo ealily engages our affections That 
propenfity to joy which feems even to animate the 
bloom, and to fparkle from the eves of youth and 
beauty, though in a perfon of the fame fex, exalts, 
even the aged, to a more joyous mood than ordi- 
nary. They forget, for a time, their .infirmities, 
and abandon themfclves to i; ofe agreeable ideas 
and emotions to which they have long been 
Grangers, but which, when the prefence of fo 
much happincfs recalls them to their breait, take 
their place there, like old acquaintance, from 
whom they are lorry to have ever been parted, and 
whom they embrace more heartily upon account 
of this long feparaiion. 

It is quite otherwife with grief. Small vexa- 
tions excite no lympathy, but deep affliction calls 
forth the greateft. The man who is made uneafy 
by every little difagreeable incident, who is hurt 
it either the cook or the butler have failed in the 
leaft article of their duty, who feels every dekct 
in the higher! ceremonial of pohtenefs, whether it 
be fhewn to himfelf or to any other perfon, who 
takes it amifs that his intimate friend did not bid 
him good-morrow when they met in the forenc 
and that his brother hummed a tune all the time 
he himfelf was telling a ftory ; who is put out of 
humour by the badnefs of the weather when in the 
country, by the badnefs of the roads when upon 
3 journey* and by the want of company, and dull- 

ncu 



PART III.] OF THE PASSIONS. 411 

nefs of all public divcriions when in town : fuch 
a perfjn, I lay, though he fhould have fome rea- 
ion, will feldom nth much iympathy. Joy 

is a pleafant emotion, and we gladly abandon 
ourfelves to it upon the flightefl occafion. Wc 
readily, therefore, fyinpathize with it in others, 
whenever we are not prejudiced by envy. But 
grief is painful, and the mind, even when it is our 
own misfortune, naturally refifts and recoils from 
it. We would endeavour either not to conceive 
it at all, or to fhake it off as foon as we have 
conceived it. Our averiion to grief will not, in- 
deed, always hinder us from conceiving it our own 
cafe upon very trifling occafions, but it conftantly 
prevents us from fympathizing with it in others 
when excited by the like frivolous caufes : for our 
fympathetic paflions are always lefs irrefiftible than 
our original ones. There is, belides, a malice in 
mankind, which not only prevents all fympathy 
with little uneaiineiles, but renders them in fome 
meafure diverting. Hence the delight which we 
all take in raillery, and in the fmall vexation which 
we obferve in our companion when he is puihed, 
and urged, and teafed upon all fides. Men of the 
moil ordinary good-breeding diflemble the pain 
which arfy little incident may give them, and 
thofe who are more thoroughly formed to fociety, 
turn of their own accord, all fuch incidents into 
raillery, as they know their companions will do for 
them. The habit which a man, who lives in the 

world, 



412 PROPRIETY OF THE PASSIONS. [fART IU* 

world, has acquired of confidering how every 
thing that concerns himfelf will appear to others, 
makes thofe frivolous calamities turn up in the 
fame ridiculous feht to him, in which he knows 
they will certainly be conlidered by them. 

Our fympathy, on the contrary, with deep dif-> 
Irefs, is very ftrong and very lincere. It is unne- 
ceflary to give an inftance. We weep even at the 
feigned reprefentation of a tragedy. If one la- 
bour, therefore, under any fignal calamity, if by 
fome extraordinary misfortune he is fallen into 
poverty, into dilgrace and d.fappointment ; even 
though his own fault may have been, in part, the 
occafion, yet he may generally depend upon the 
iincereft fympathy of all his friends, and, as 
far as intereft and honour will permit, cpon their 
kindeft aiTitfance too. But if his misfortune is 
not of this dreadful kind, if he has only been a 
little baulked in his ambition, if he has been 
only jilted by his miirrefs, or is only hen-pecked 
by his wife, he may lay his account with the rail- 
lery of his acquaintance. 



CHAPTER 



( 413 ) 



CHAPTER XIV. 



Of Self~comma?id. 

X HE man who acts according to the rules of 
perfect prudence, of ftrict juflice, and of proper 
benevolence, may be faid to be perfectly virtuous. 
But the moft perfect knowledge of thofe rules will 
not alone enable him to act in this manner: his 
own paflions are very apt to miflead him ; fome- 
times to drive him and fometimes to feduce him 
to violate all the rules which he himfelf, in all his 
fober and cool hours, approves of. The moft 
perfect knowledge, if it is not fupported by the 
moft perfect Self-command, will not always en- 
able him to do his duty. 

Some of the belt of the ancient moralifts feern 
to have confidered the paffions as divided into 
two different clafies : firft, into thofe which it re- 
quires a confiderable exertion of Self-command to 
reftrain even for a Angle moment ; and, fecondly, 
into thofe' which it is cafy to reftrain for a tingle 
moment, or even for a fhort period of time ; but 
which, by their continual and almoft incefTant 
folicitations, are, in the courfe of a life, very apt 
to miflead into great deviations. 

Fea/j 



414 SELF-COMMAND. [PART III, 

Fear and Anger, together with fome other 
paflions which are mixed or connected with them, 
conftitute the firft clafs. The love of eafe, of 
pleafure., of applaufe, and of many other felfifh 
gratifications, conftitute the fecond. Extravagant 
fear and furious anger, it is often difficult to re- 
ftrain even for a fingle moment. The love of 
eafe, of pleafure, of applaufe, and other felfifh 
gratifications, it is always eafy to rettrain for a 
fingle moment, or even for a fhort period of time ; 
but, by their continual folicitations, they often 
miflead us into many weaknefTes which we have 
afterwards much reafon to be afhamed of. The 
former let of paflions may often be laid to drive, 
the latter, to feduce us from our duty. The 
command of the former was, by the ancient mo- 
ralitts above alluded to, denominated fortitude, 
manhood, and ilrength of mind ; that of the lat- 
ter, temperance, decency, modefty, and mode- 
ration. 

The command of each of thofe two fets of 
paflions, independent of the beauty which it de- 
rives from its utility, from us enabling us upon 
all occafions according to the dictates of 

prudent tnd of proper benevolence* 

has a b own, and feems to delerve for 

its ow r n fake a certain of that elteem and 

admiration. In the on ;:h and 

greatnefs of on excit i degree of 

thai efteem una admiration, in the other, the 

uniformity, 



PARI" III.] SELF-COMMAND. 415 

uniformity, the equality and unremitting fteadi- 
nefs of that exertion. 

The man who, in danger, in torture, upon 
the approach of death, preferves his tranquillity 
unaltered, and fuffers no wore', no gefture to 
efcape him which does not perfectly accord with 
the feelings of the mod indifferent fpectator, ne- 
cefTarily commands a very high degree of admira- 
tion. If lie differs in the caufe of liberty and 
juftice, for the fake of humanity and the love of 
his country, the mod tender companion for his 
fufferings, the ftrongeft indignation againft the 
injudice of his perfecutors, the warmer! fympa- 
thetic gratitude for his beneficent intentions, the 
higheft fenfe of his merit, all join and mix them- 
felves with the admiration of his magnanimity, 
and often inflame that fentimentinto the moft en- 
thufiaitic and rapturous veneration. The heroes 
of ancient and modern hiltory, who are remem- 
bered with the moft peculiar favour and affection, 
are, many of them, thofe who, in the caule of 
truth, liberty, and juftice, have perimed upon 
the fcaffold, and who behaved there with that eafe 
and dignity which became them. Had the ene- 
mies of Socrates differed him to have died quietly 
in his bed, the glory even of that great philofopher 
might poflibly never have acquired that dazzling 
fplendour in which it has been beheld in all iuc- 
ceeding ages. In the Englifh hiltory, when we 
look over the illuftrious heads which have been 

raven 



416 Self-command. [part in. 

engraven by Vertue and Howbraken, there is 
fcarcely any body, I imagine, who does not feel 
that the axe, the emblem of having been be- 
headed, which is engraved under fome of the 
mo ft illuftrious of them ; under thole of the Sir 
Thomas Mores, of the Raleighs, the RuiTels, the 
Sydncys, &c. fheds a real dignity and intereft 
over the characters to which it is affixed, 
much luperior to what they can derive from all 
the futile ornaments of heraldry, with which they 
are fometimes accompanied. 

Nor does this magnanimity give luftre only to 
the characters of innocent and virtuous men. It 
draws fome degree of favourable regard even upon 
thole of the greateft criminals ; and when a rob- 
ber or highwayman is brought to the lcafFold, and 
behaves there with decency and firmnefs, though 
we perfectly approve of his punifhmcnt, we often 
cannot help regretting that a man who pofTeiied 
fuch great and noble powers mould have been ca- 
pable of fuch mean enormities. 

War is a great fchool both for acquiring and ex- 
erciiing this fpecies of magnanimity. Death, as 
we fay, is the king of terrors ;' and the man who 
has conquered the fear of death, is not likely to 
lofe his pretence of mind at the approach of any 
other natural evil. In war, men become fam; 
with death, and are thereby neceflarily cured of 
that fuperftitioue horror with which it is 
by the weak and unexperienced. They conluler 

it 



PART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 41/ 

it merely as the lofs of life, and as no further the 
object of averfion than as life may happen to be 
that of defire. They learn from experience, too, 
that many feerningly great dangers are not fo 
great as they appear ; and that, with courage, 
activity, and prefence of mind, there is often a 
good probability of extricating themfelves with 
honour from fituations where at flrft they could 
fee no hope. The dread of deatli is thusgrearly 
diminifhed ; and the confidence or hope of efa.p- 
ing it, augmented. They learn to expofe them- 
felves to danger with lefs reluctance. They are 
lefs anxious to get out of it, and lefs apt to lofe 
their prefence of mind while they are in it. It is 
this habitual contempt of danger and death which 
ennobles the profefhon of a foldier, and bellows 
upon it, in the natural apprehenfions of mankind, 
a rank and dignity fuperior to that of any other 
profeffion. The fkilful and fuccefsful exercife of 
this profeffion, in the fervice of their country,, 
feems to have confiituted the mofr diftinguifhing 
feature in the character of the favourite heroes of 
all ages. 

Great warlike exploits, though undertaken con- 
trary to every principle of juftice, and carried on 
without any regard to humanity, 'fometimes in- 
tereft us, and command even fome decree of a 
certain fort of efteem for the very worthleis cha- 
racters which conduct it. We are interefted even 
in the exploits of the Buccaneers ; and read with 
E e fome 



41S SELF-COMMAND. [PART III* 

fome fort of efteem and admiration, the hiftory 
of the moft worthlefs men, who, in purfuit 
of the moft criminal purpofes^ endured greater 
hardfhips, furmounted greater difficulties, and 
encountered greater dangers, than, perhaps, any 
which the ordinary courfe of hiftory gives an 
account of. 

The command of axger appears upon many 
occafions not lefs generous and noble than that of 
fear. The proper expreffion of juft indigna- 
tion compofes many of the moft fplendid and ad- 
mired patlages both of ancient and modern elo- 
quence. The Philippics of Demofthenes, the 
Catalinarians of Cicero, derive their whole beauty 
from the noble propriety with which this pal- 
fion is exprefied. But this juft indignation is 
nothing but anger reftrained and properly at- 
tempered to what the impartial fpcctator can en- 
ter into. The blultering and noify pailion which 
goes beyond this, is always odious and often live, 
and interefts us, not for the angr) man. but for 
the man with whom he is angry. The nobleneis 
of pardoning appears, upon many occafions, fu- 
perior even to the molt perfect propriety of re- 
lenting. When either proper acknowledgements 
have been made by the offending party ; or, even 
without any fuch acknowledgments, when the 
public interelt requires that the moil mortal ene- 
mies fhould unite for the discharge of fome im- 
portant duty, the man who can call away all ani- 
mofity, and act with confidence and cordiality 

tow. 



I>ART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 419 

towards the perfon who had moft grievoufly of- 
fended him, feems juftly to merit our higheil 
admiration. 

The command of anger, however, does not 
always appear in fuch fplendid colours. Fear is 
contrary to anger, and is often the motive 
which retrains it ; and in fuch cafes the mean- 
nefs of the motive takes away all the noblenefs of 
the reftraint. Anger prompts to attack, and the 
indulgence of it feems fometimes to mew a fort 
of courage and fuperiority to fear. The indul- 
gence of anger is fometimes an objedt of vanity. 
That of fear never is. Vain and weak men, 
among their inferiors, or thofe who dare not re- 
fill them, often affect to be often tatioufly paflion- 
ate, and fancy that they mow, what is called, 
fpirit in being fo. A bully tells many ftories of 
his own infolence, which are not true, and ima- 
gines that he thereby renders himfelf, if not more 
amiable and refpectable, at leaft more formidable 
to iiis audience. Modern manners, which, by 
favouring the practice of duelling, may be fkid, 
in fome cafes, to encourage private revenge, con- 
tribute, perhaps, a good deal to render, in modern 
times, the reftraint of anger by fear full more 
contemptible than it might otherwife appear to 
be. There is always fomething dignified in the 
command of fear, whatever may be the motive 
upon which it is founded. It is net fo with the 
command of anger. Unlefs it is founded altoge- 
Ee 2 ther 



426 SELF-CO-MMANDi [PART lit* 

ther in the fenfe of decency, of dignity, and pro- 
priety, it never is perfectly agreeable. 

To act according to the dictates of prudence, 
of juftice, and proper beneficence, feems to have 
no great meiit where there is no temptation to do 
otherwife. But to act with cool deliberation in 
the midft of the greateft dangers and difficulties ; 
to obferve religioufty the (acred rules of juftice, in 
fpite both of the greateft interefts which might 
tempt, and the greateft injuries which might pro- 
voke us to violate them ; never to liirTer the be- 
nevolence of our temper to be damped or difcou- 
raged by the malignity and ingratitude of the indi- 
viduals towards whom it may have been excrcifed ; 
is the character of the moft exalted wifdom and 
virtue. Self-command is not only itielf a great 
virtue, but from it all the other virtues feem to 
derive their principal luftrc. 

The command of fear, the command of 
ANGER, are always great and noble powers. 
When they are directed by juftice and benevo- 
lence, they are not only great virtues, but inc:\ 
the fplendour of thole other virtues. They mi 
however, fometimes be directed by very different 
motives; and in this caie, though ir ill great and 
r^fpectable, they may be exceffively danger. 
The moft intrepid valour may be employed in the 
caufe of the greateft in] Amidft great 

provocations, apparent tranquillity and good hu- 
mour may fometim< 






PAKT III.] SELF-COMMAND. *42\ 

and cruel refolution to revenge. The ftrength of 
mind requifite for inch diffimulation, though al- 
ways and neccffarily contaminated by the bafe- 
nefs of falfehood, has, however, been often much 
admired by many people of no contemptible 
judgment. The diffimulation of Catharine of 
Medicis is often celebrated by the profound hif- 
torian Davila ; that of Lord Digby, afterwards 
Earl of Briftol, by the grave and confeientious 
Lord Clarendon ; that of the fir ft Afhley Eari of 
Shaftefbury, by the judicious Mr. Locke. Even 
Cicero feems to confider this deceitful character* 
not indeed as of the higheft dignity, but as not 
unfuitable to a certain flexibility of manners, 
which, he thinks, may, notwithftanding, be, up- 
on the whole, both agreeable and refpeetable. 
He exemplifies it by the characters of Komer's 
UlylTes, of the Athenian Themiftocles, of the 
Spartan Lyfander, and of the Roman Marcus 
CrafTus. This character of dark and deep diffi- 
mulation occurs moft commonly in times of great 
public diforder ; amidft the violence of faction 
and civil war. When law has become in a great 
mcafure impotent, when the moft perfect inno- 
cence cannot alone infure fafety, regard to f elf- 
defence obliges the greater part of men to have 
recourfe to dexterity, to adclrefs, and to apparent 
accommodation to whatever happens to be, at the 
moment, the prevailing party. This falfe cha- 
racter, too, is frequently accompanied with the 

E e 3 cooleft 

i 



42§ SELF-COMMAND. [.PART III. 

cooleft and moft determined courage. The 
proper exercife of it impofes that courage, as 
death is commonly the certain confequence of 
detection. It may be employed indifferently, 
either to exafperate or to allay thofe furious ani- 
mofities of adverfe factions which impofe the ne- 
ceffity of affirming it ; and though it may lbme- 
times be ufeful, it is at leaft equally liable to be 
exceffively pernicious. 

The command of the lefs violent and turbulent 
pafrlons feems much lefs liable to be abufed to 
any pernicious purpofe. Temperance, decency, 
modefty, and moderation, are always amiable, 
and can feldom be directed to any bad end. It 
is from the unremitting fteadinefs of thofe gentler 
exertions of fclf-command, that the amiable vir- 
tue of chaftity, that the rcfpectable virtues of in- 
duftry and frugality, derive all that fober luftre 
which attends them. The conduct of all thofe 
who are contented to walk in the humble paths 
of private and peaceable life, derives from the 
fame principle the greater part of the beauty and 
grace which belong to it, a beauty and 
grace which, though much lci> dazzling, is not 
always lefs pleating than thofe which accompany 
the more fplendid actions of the hero, the fta 
man, or the legislator, 

The degree of aivv pafllon which the impartial 
fpectator approves of, is differently (ituated in 
different palfions. In fome paffions the excels is 
lets dilagreeable than the defect ; and in luch. 

[ion$ 



PART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 42« 

paflions the point of propriety feems to ft and 
high, or nearer to the excei's than to the defect. 
In other paflions, the defect is lcfs difagreeable 
than the excels; and in fuch paflions the point of 
propriety feems to Hand low, or pearer to the de- 
fect than to the excefs. The former are the paf- 
lions which the fpectator is moft, the latter, thofe 
which he is leait difpofed to fympathize with. 
The former, too, are the paflions of which the 
immediate feeling or fenfation is agreeable to the 
perfon principally concerned ; the latter, thofe of 
which it is difagreeable. It may be laid down as 
a general rule, that the paflions which the fpecta- 
tor is molt difpofed to fympathize with, and in 
which, upon that account, the point of propriety 
may be faid to ftand high, are thofe of which the 
immediate feeling or fenfation is more or lefs 
agreeable to the perfon principally concerned : 
and that, on the contrary, the paflions which the 
fpectator is leaft difpofed to fympathize with, and 
in which, upon that account, the point of propri- 
ety may be faid to ftand low, are thofe of which 
the immediate feeling or fenfation is more or lefs 
difagreeable, or even painful, to the perfon prin- 
cipally concerned. This general rule, fo far 
as I have been able to obferve, admits not of 
a iingle exception. A few examples will at 
once, both fufnciently explain it, and demonftrate 
the truth of it. _ 

E e 4 The 



424 SELF-COMMAND. |_PART III. 

The difpofition to the affections which tend to 
unite men in fociety, to humanity, kindnefs, na- 
tural affection, friendfhip, eftcem, may fometimes 
be exceffive. Even the excefs of this difpofition, 
however, renders a man interefting to every body. 
Though we blame it, we ftill regard it with com- 
panion, and even with kindnefs, and never with 
diflike. We are more forry for it than angry at 
it. To the perfon himfelf, the indulgence even 
of fuch exceffive affections is, upon many occa- 
fions, not only agreeable, but delicious. Upon fome 
occalions, indeed, efpec.allv when directed, as is too 
often the cafe, towards unworthy objects, it ex- 
pofes him to much real and heartfelt diftrefs. 
Even upon fuch occalions, however, a well-dif- 
pofed mind regards him with the molt exquifite 
pitv, and feels the higheft indignation againfl 
thofe who affect to defpife him for his weaknefs 
and imprudence. The defect of this difpofition. 
on the contrary, which is called hardnefs of heart, 
while it renders a man infenfible to the feelings 
and diftreffes of other people, renders other people 
equally infenfible to his; and, by excluding him 
from the friendfhip of all the world, excludes him 
from the belt and moft comfortable of all focial 
enjoyments. 

The difpofition to the affections which drive 
men from one another, and which tend, as it 
were, to break the bands of human fociety ; the 
difpofition to anger, hatred, envy, malice, re- 
venge j is, on the contrary, much mere apt to 

offend 



TART III.] SELF-COMMANP. 425 

offend by its excefs than by its defect. The ex- 
cels renders a man wretched and miferable in his 
own mind, and the object of hatred, and fome- 
times even of horror, to other people, The defect 
is very feldom complained of. It may, however, 
be defective. The want of proper indignation is 
amoft efTential defect in the manly character, and, 
upon many occafions, renders a man incapable of 
protecting himfelf or his friends from infult and 
injuftice. Even that principle, in the excels and 
improper direction of which coniilts the odious 
and deteftable paffion of envy, may be defective. 
Envy, as we have feen, is that pafTion which 
views with malignant diflike the fuperiority of 
thofe who are really entitled to all the fuperiority 
they poflefs. The man, however, who, in mat- 
ters of confequence, tamely fuffers other people, 
who are entitled to no fuch fuperiority, to rife 
above him or get before him, is juftly condemned 
as mean-fpirited. This weakneis is commonly 
founded in indolence, fometimes in good nature, 
in an averfion to oppofition, to buttle and felici- 
tation, and fometimes, too, in a fort of ill-judged 
magnanimity, which fancies that it can always 
continue to defpile the advantage which it then 
defpifes, and, therefore, fo eafily gives up. Such 
w r eaknefs, however, is commonly followed by 
much regret and repentance ; and what had fome 
appearance of magnanimity in the beginning fre- 
quently gives place to a mpft malignant envy in 

the 



426 



SELF-COMMAND. 



[part hi; 

the end, and to a hatred of that fuperiority, which 
thofe who have once attained it, may often be- 
come really entitled to, by the very circumftance 
of having attained it. In order to live comforta- 
bly in the world, it is, upon all occafions, as ne- 
ceffary to defend our dignity and rank, as it is to 
defend our life or our fortune. 

Our fenfibility to perfonal danger and diilrefs, 
like that to perfonal provocation, is much more 
apt to offend by its excefs than by its defect. No 
character is more contemptible than that of a cow- 
ard ; no character is more admired than that of 
the man who faces death with intrepidity, and 
maintains his tranquillity and prcience of mind 
amid it the molt dreadful dangers. We cfteem 
the man who fupports pain and even torture with 
manhood and firmnefs ; and we can have little re- 
gard for him who finks under them, and abandons 
himfelf to ufelefs outcries and womanifh lamen- 
tations. A fretful temper, which feels, with too 
much fenfibility, every little crofs accident, renders 
a man miierable in himfelf and offenfivetto other 
people. A calm one, which does not allow its 
tranquillity to be difturbed, either by the fmall 
injuries, or by the little dilafters incident to the 
ufual courfe of human affairs ; but which, amidft 
the natural and moral evils infefting the world, 
lays its account and is contented to luffer a little 
from both, is a bleifmg to the man himfelf, and 
gives eafe and fecurity to all his companions. 

Our 



PART III.] SELF-COMMAND. . 427 

Our fenfibility, however, both to our own in- 
juries and to our own misfortunes, though gene- 
rally too llrong, may likewife be too weak. The 
man who feels little for his own misfortunes muft 
always feel lefs for thofe of other people, and be 
lefs difpofed to relieve them. The man who has 
little refentment for the injuries which are done to 
himfelf, muft always have lefs for thofe which are 
done to other people, and be lefs difpofed either 
to protecl or to avenge them. A ftupid infenfi- 
bility to the events of human life neceflarily ex- 
tinguifhes all that keen and earneft attention to the 
propriety of our own condudt, which conftitutes 
the real eflence of virtue, We can feel little 
anxiety about the propriety of our own actions, 
when we are indifferent about the events which 
may refult from them. The man who feels 
the full diftrefs of the calamity which has befallen 
him, who feels the whole bafenefs of the injuftice 
which has been done to him, but who feels ftill 
more ftrongly what the dignity of his own cha- 
racter requires ; who does not abandon himfelf to 
the guidance of .the undifciplined paflions which 
his fituation might naturally infpire ; but who 
governs his whole behaviour and conduct accord- 
ing to thofe reftrained and corrected emotions 
which the great inmate, the great demi-god within 
the breaft prefcribes and approves of ; is alone the 
real man of virtue, the only real and proper ob- 
ject of love, refpect, and admiration. Infcnfibility 

and 



423 SELF-COMMAND. [PART III. 

and that noble firmnefs, that exalted felf-com- 
mand, which is founded in the fenfe of dignity 
and propriety, are fo far from being altogether the 
fame, that in proportion as the former take- place 
the merit of the latter is, in many cafes, entirely 
taken away. 

But though the total want of fenfibility to per- 
gonal injury, to perfonal danger and diftrefs, 
would, in fuch fituations, take away tr.e whole 
merit of fel f-command, that fenfibility, however, 
may very eafily be too exquiiite, and it frequently 
is fo. When the fenfe of propriety, when the 
authority of the judge within the breafr, can con- 
trol this extreme fenfibility, that authority muft 
no doubt appear very noble and very great. But 
the exertion of it may be too fatiguing : it may 
have too much to do. The individual, by a great 
effort, may behave perfectly well. But the con- 
teft between the two principles, the warfare within 
the bread', mav be too violent to be at all coniili- 
ent with internal tranquillity and happinefs. The 
wife man whom Nature has endowed with tins too 
exquiiite fenfibility, and whole too lively feelings 
have not been furficiently blunted and hardened 
by early education and proper exerciie, will avoid, 
as much as dutv and propriety will permit, the Ii- 
tuations for which he is not perfectly fitted. The 
man whole feeble and delicate constitution renders 
him too fenlible to pain, to hardihip, and to every 
fort of bodily diftrefs, iliould not wantonly em- 
brace 



PART III.] SELF-COtaMAND. 42^ 

brace the profeffion of a foldier. The mau of too 
much fenfibility to injury, fhould not raihly en- 
gage in the contefts of faction. Though the fenfe 
of propriety fhould be flrong enough to command 
all thole fenfibilities, the compoiure of the mind 
muft always be difturbed in the flruggle. In this 
diforder the judgment cannot always maintain its 
ordinary acutenefs and precilion ; and though he 
may always mean to act properly, lie may often 
act rafhly and imprudently, and in a manner 
which he himfelf will, in the fucceeding part of 
his life, be for ever afhamed of. A certain intre- 
pidity, a certain firmnefs of nerves and hardinefs 
of confutation, whether natural or acquired, are 
undoubtedly the belt preparatives for all the great 
exertions of felf-command. 

Though war and faction are certainly the beft 
fchools for forming every man to this hardinefs and 
firmnefs of temper, though they are the beft re- 
medies for curing him of the oppofite weakneffes, 
yet, if the day of trial fhould happen to come be- 
fore he has completely learned his leffon, before 
the remedy has had time to produce its proper ef- 
fect, the confequences might not be agreeable. 

Our fenfibility to the pleafures, to the amufe- 
ments and enjoyments of human life, may offend, 
in the fame manner, either by its excefs or by its 
defect. Of the two, however, the excefs feems 
Jefs difagreeable than the defect. Both to the 
fpectator and to the perfon principally concerned, 

a ilrong 



430 



SELF-COMMAND, 



x III, 



a fti'ong propenfity to joy is certainly more pleaf- 
ing than a dull infenfibility to the objects of 
amufement and diverfion. We are charmed with 
the gaiety of youth, and even with the playful- 
nefs of childhood : but we foon grow weary of 
the flat and taflclefs gravity which too frequently 
accompanies old age. When this propenfitv, in- 
deed, is not reftrained by the fenfe of propriety, 
when it is unfuitable to the time or to the place, 
to the age or to the fituation of the perfon, when 
to indulge it, he neglects either his intereft or his 
duty ; it is juftly blamed as exceflr 1 as 

hurtful both to the individual and to focicty. 
In the greater part offuch cafes, however, ''.hat is 
chiefly to be found fault with is, not fo much the 
ftrength of the propenfity to joy, as the weaknefs 
of the fenfe of propriety and duty. A young man 
who has dq relifh for the diverfioi amufe- 

ments that are natural and fuitable to h who 

talks of nothing but his book or hi* bull 
difliked as formal and pedantic ; and we give him 
no credit for his abftinence even from in 
indulgences, to be feems to have fo little 

inclination. 

The principle of felf-eftinu 
high, and it may tikewife be too low. I 
very agreeable to think highly, ai 
agreeable to think meaol) of ourfelves, that, to 
the perfon himfelf, it cannot well b< ted, 

but that fome degree of excefs muft be much left 

.able 



PART ill.] SELF*COMMAND. 43! 

difagreeable than any degree of defect. But to 
the impartial ipectator, it may perhaps bethought, 
things mnft appear quite differently, and that to 
him the defect muft- always be lets difagreeable 
than the e::cefs. And in our companions, no 
doubt, we much more frequently complain of the 
latter than of the former. When they affiime 
upon us, or fet themfelves before us, their felf- 
eirimation mortifies our own. Our own pride and 
vanity prompt us to accufe them of pride and 
vanity, and we ceafe to be the impartial fpecta- 
tors of their conduct. When the fame compani- 
ons, however, fuffer any other man to affume 
over them a fuperiority which does not belong to 
him, we not only blame them, but often defpife 
them as mean-fpirited. When, on the contrary, 
among other people, they pufh themfelves a little 
more forward, and fcramble to an elevation dil- 
proportioned, as we think, to their merit, though 
we may not perfectly approve of their conduct, 
we are often, upon the whole, diverted with it ; 
and, where there is no envy in the cafe, we are 
almoft always much lefs difpleafed with them, 
than we fhould have been, had they fuffered 
themfelves to fink below their proper flation. 

In eftimating our own merit, in judging of our 
own characler and conduct, there are two different 
standards to which we naturally compare them. 
The one is the idea of exact propriety and per- 
fection, fo far as we are each of us capable of 

comprehending 



135 



SELF-COMMAND, 



[PART III* 

comprehending that idea. The other is that de- 
gree of approximation to this idea which is com- 
monly attained in the world, and which the greater 
part of our friends and companions, of our rivals 
and competitors, may have actually* arrived at. 
We very feldom (I am difpofed to think, we 
never) attempt to judge of ourfelves without 
giving more or lefs attention to both thefe dif- 
ferent llandards. But the attention of different 
men, and even of the lame man at different times, 
is often very unequally divided between them ; 
and is fometimes principally directed towards the 
one, and fometimes towards the other. 

So far as our attention is directed towards the 
firft ftandard, the wifeft and bell of us all, can, in 
his own character and conduct, fee nothing but 
wcaknefs and imperfection; can difcover no 
ground for arrogance and prefumption, but a great 
deal for humility, regret, and repentance. So far 
as our attention is directed towards the fecond, we 
may be afTecled either in the one way or in the 
other, and feel ourfelves either really above, or 
reallv below, the ltandard to which we compare 
ourfelves. 

The wife and virtuous man directs his principal 
attention to the firfl ltandard; the idea of e>. 
propriety and perfection. There exifta in the 
mind of every man an idea of this kind gradually 
formed from his obfervations upon the chanu! 
aijd conduct both of himfelf and of other | 

' It 



PART III.] SELF-COMMAND.' 433 

It is the flow, gradual, and progreffive work of 
the great demi-god within the breaft, the great 
judge and arbiter of conduct. This idea is in 
every man more or lefs accurately drawn, its co- 
louring is more or lefs juft, its outlines are more or 
lefs exactly defigned, according to the delicacy and 
acutenefs of that fenlibility, with which thofe ob* 
fervations were made, and according to the care 
and attention employed in making them. In the 
wife and virtuous man they have been made with 
the moll acute and » delicate fenlibility, and the 
utmoft care and attention have been employed in 
making them. Every day fome feature is im- 
proved ; every day fome blemifh is corrected. 
He has Ifcudied this idea more than other people, 
he comprehends it more diftinctly, he has formed 
a much more correct image of it, and is much 
more deeply enamoured of its exquilite and divine 
beauty. He endeavours, as well as he can, to 
affimilate his own character to this archetype of 
perfection. But he imitates the work of a divine 
artill, which can never be equalled. He feels the 
imperfect fuccefs of all his belt endeavours, and 
fees, with grief and affliction, in how many dif- 
ferent features the mortal copy falls Ihort of the 
immortal original. He remembers, with concern 
and humiliation, how often, from want of atten- 
tion, from want of judgment, from want of temper, 
he hss, both in words and actions, both in con- 
duct and converfation, violated the exact rules of 

F f perfect 



434 SELF-COMMAND. fPART III, 

perfect propriety ; and has fo far departed from 
that model, according to which he wifhed to 
faihion his own character and conduct. When 
he directs his attention towards the fecond ftand- 
ard, indeed, that degree of excellence which his 
friends and acquaintances have co, :monly arrived 
at, he may be fenfible of his own fuperiority. But, 
as his principal attention is always directed towards 
the firft ftandard, he is necciTariiy much more 
humbled by the one comparifon than he ever can 
be elevated by the other. He is never lb elated as 
to look down with iniblence even upon thole who 
arc really below him. I k tools fo well his own im- 
perfection, he too the difficulty with 
which lie attained his own diltant approximation 
to rectitude, that he cannot regard with contempt 
the it 111 greater imj a of other people. Far 
from intuiting over their inferiority, I w it 
with the molt indulgent c n, and, by 
hi, advice, it nil times will- 
ing to promote their fnrtha .cement. If. in 
any partn i they happen to be 
iuperior tx> hilft, (for * fa periect as not to 
have many fupenors in many different qualifi- 
cations :) ftr from g theft fuperiority. he, 
who knows how ciiiiicult it is to excel, efte 
and honours their CXI 

beriow upon it the full meafure of applaufe w] 
it deferves. His whole mind, in ihort, is deeply 
ini] relied, his wh< portinent 



part in.] self-Command. 435 

are diftinctly ftamped with the character of real 
modefty ; with that of a very moderate eftimation 
of his own merits and, at the fame time, of a full 
fenfe of the merit of other people. 

In all the liberal and ingenious arts, in painting, 
in poetry, in rnufic, in eloquence, in philofophy, 
the great artift feels always the real imperfection 
of his own beft works, and is more fenlible than 
any man how much they fall fhort of that ideal 
perfection of which he has formed fome concep- 
tion, which he imitates as well as he can, but 
which he defpairs of ever equalling. It is the in- 
ferior artift only, who is ever perfectly fatisfied with 
his own performances. He has little conception 
of this ideal perfection, about which he has little 
employed his thoughts ; and it is chiefly to the 
works of other artift s, of, perhaps, a ftill lower or- 
der, that he deigns to compare his own works* 
Boileau, the great French poet, (in fome of his 
works perhaps not inferior to the greateft poet of 
the fame kind, either ancient or modern,) ufed to 
fay, that no great man was ever completely fatis- 
fied with his own works. His acquaintance San- 
teuil (a writer of Latin verfes, and who, on account 
of that fchool-boy accomplifhment, had the weak- 
nefs to fancy himfelf a poet) aflured him that he 
himfel-f was always completely fatisfied with his 
own. Boileau replied, with, perhaps, an arch am- 
biguity, That he certainly was the only great man 
that ever was Jo*. Boileau, in judging cf his own 
Ff'2 works, 



436 SELF-COMMAND. [PART HI* 

Works, compared them with the Itandard of ideal 
perfection, which, in his own particular branch of 
the poetic art, he had, I prefume, meditated as 
deeply, and conceived as diftinctly, as it is poffi- 
ble for man to conceive it. Santeuil, in judging 
of his own works, compared them, I iuppofe, 
chiefly to thofe of the other Latin poets of his 
own time, to the greater part of whom he was cer- 
tainly very far from being inferior. But to fup- 
port and finifh off, if I may lay fo, the conduct 
and converfation of a whole life to fome reiem- 
blance of this ideal perfection, is furely much 
more difficult than to work up to an equal reiem- 
blance any of the productions of any of the inge- 
nious arts. The artift fits down to his work un- 
disturbed, at leifure, in the full poiTeffion and re- 
colleclion of all his ikill, experience, and know- 
ledge. The wife man mull lupport the propriety 
of his own conduct in health and in iicknefs, in- 
f'ueeeis and in difappointment, in the hour of fa- 
tigue and drowfy indole well as in that of 
the molt awakened attention* The molt bidden 
and unexpected allaults of difficulty and diftrefs 
mull never furprifc him. The injuftiee of other 
people tnuft never provoke him to injuftice. The 
violence ot faction mult never confound hi in. All 
llTfc hajdlhips and hazards of war mini never either 
difhearren or appal him. 

Of the peribns who, in eflimating their own 
merit, in judging of their own character and con- 
duel, 



TART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 437 

duel, direct by far the greater part of their at- 
tention to the fecond fiandard, to that ordinary- 
degree of excellence which is commonly attained 
by other people, there are (bme who really and 
juftly feel themfelves very much above it, and who, 
by every intelligent and impartial fpeclator, are 
acknowledged to be fo. The attention of fuch 
peribns, however, being always principally direct- 
ed, not to the ftandard of ideal, but to that of or- 
dinary perfection, they have little fenfe of their 
own weakneffes and imperfections ; they have little 
modefly; are often affuming, arrogant, and pre- 
fumptuous ; great admirers of themfelves, and 
great contemners of other people. Though their 
characters are in general much lefs correct, and 
their merit much inferior to that of the man of 
real and modeft virtue ; yet their exceffive pre- 
emption, founded upon their own exceffive leif- 
admiration, dazzles the multitude, and often im- 
pofes even upon thofe who are much fuperior to 
the multitude. The frequent, and often wonder- 
ful, fuccefs of the moft ignorant quacks and im- 
pofiors, both civil and religious, fuiliciently de~ 
monilrate how eafily the multitude are impofed 
upon by the moft extravagant and groundlefs pre- 
tentions. But when thofe pretenlions are lupport- 
ed by a very high degree of real and folid merit, 
when they are difplayed with all the fplendour 
which orientation can beftow upon them, when 
they are fupported by high rank and great power, 
F f 3 when 



43S SELF-COMMAND. [PART III. 

when they have often been fuccefsfully exerted, 
and are, upon that account, attended b\ the loud 
acclamations of the multitude ; even the man of 
fober judgment often abandons himfelf to the 
general admiration. The very noife of thofe foolifh 
acclamations often contributes to confound his un- 
derftanding, and while he fees thole great men 
only at a certain diftance, he is often difpofed to 
worfhip them with a fineere admiration, fuperior 
even to that with which they appear to worfhip 
themfelves. When there is no envy in the cafe, 
we all take pleafure in admiring, and are, upon 
that account, naturally difpofed, in our fancies, to 
render complete and perfect in every refpect the 
characters which, in many refpects, are fo very 
worthy of admiration. The exceiilve felf- admi- 
ration of thofe great men is well underftood, per- 
haps, and even feen through, with fome degree of 
derifion, by thofe wife men who ore much m their 
familiarity, and who fecretly fmile at thofe lofty 
pretenfions, which, by people at a diftance, 
often regarded with reverence, and almoft with 
adoration. Such, however, have been a in all ages, 
the greater part of thofe men who have procured 
to themfelves the molt noifyfamc. fcbc :.. : o- 
tenfive reputation ; a fame and reputation, too, 
which have often defcended to the remote ft pof- 
terity. 

Great iuccefs in the world, great aurhority over 
the fentiments and opinions of mankind, have 

very 



PART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 439 

very feldom been acquired without fome degree 
of this exceilive lelf-admiration. The nioit 
fplendid characters, the men who have perform- 
ed the moft illuflrious anions, who have brought 
about the greater! revolutions, both in the iitua- 
tions and opinions of mankind ; the moft fuc- 
cefsful warriors, the greateft iiatefmen and legis- 
lators, the elegant founders and leaders of the 
moil numerous and moll iuccefsful feels and par- 
ties ; have many of them been, not more diftin- 
guifhed for their very great merit, than for a de- 
gree of prefumption and felf-admiration altoge- 
ther difproportioned even to that very great merit. 
This prefumption was, perhaps, necedarv, not 
only to prompt them to undertakings which a 
more fober mind would never have" thought of, 
but to command the fubmiffion and obedience 
of their followers to fupport them in fuch under- 
takings. When crowned with fuccefs, accord- 
ingly, this prefumption has often betrayed them 
into a vanity that approached almoft to infanity 
and folly. Alexander the Great appears, not 
only to have wifhed that other people mould 
think him a god, but to have been at leaft very 
well difpofed to fancy himfelf fuch. Upon his 
death-bed, the moft ungodlike of all iituations, 
\\c requefted of his friends that, to the refpect- 
able lift of deities, into which himfelf hajd ^ong 
before been inferted, his old mother Olympic 

F f 4 might 



440 SELF-COMMAND. [PART III. 

might Hkewife have the honour of being added. 
Amidft the relpectful admiration of his followers 
an<i difciples, amidft the universal applaufe of the 
public, after the oracle, which probably had fol- 
lowed the voice of that applaule, had pronounced 
him the wifeft of men, the great wifdom of So- 
crates, though it did not fufFer him to fancy 
hirmelf a god, yet was not great enough to hin- 
der him from fancying that lie had fecret and fre- 
quent intimations from ibme invifible and divine 
Being. The found head of Caesar was not fo per* 
feclly found as to hinder him from being much 
pleated with his divine genealogy from the god- 
defs Venus ; and, before the temple of this pre- 
tended great-grandmother, to receive, without 
riling from his feat, the Roman Senate, when that 
ill — trious body came to prefent him with fome 
decrees conferring upon him the moll extravagant 
honours. This infolence, joined to fome other 
acls of an almoii childifh vanity, little to be im- 
peded from an underftanding at once fb very 
acute and comprehenlive, feems, by exafperating 
the public jealoufy, to have emboldened his ai- 
fafiins, and to have hailened the execution of 
their conspiracy. The religion and manners of 
modern times give our great men little encou- 
ragement to fancy themieives either gods ot even 
prophets. Succefs, however, joined to great po- 
pular favour, has often fo far turned the heads of 



PART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 441 

the greatcft of them, as to make them afcribe to 
themfelves both an importance and an ability 
much beyond what they really pofiefled ; and, 
by this prefumption, to precipitate themfelves into 
many rafh and fometimes ruinous adventures. 
It is a character! ft ic aLnoft peculiar to the great 
Duke of Marlborough, that ten years of fucli un- 
interrupted and fuch iplendid fuccefs as fcarcely 
any other general could boaft of, never betrayed 
him into a fingle raih action, fcarcely into a fingle 
rafh word or expreffion. The fame temperate 
coolnefs and lelf-command cannot, I think be af- 
cribed to any other great warrior of later times ; 
not to Prince Eugene, not to the late King of 
Pruffia, not to the great Prince of Conde, not 
even to Guftavus Adolphus. Turenne feems to 
have approached the neareft to it ; but feveral dif- 
ferent tranfactions of his life fufficiently demon- 
ftrate that it was in him by no means fo perfect 
as in the great Duke of Marlborough. 

In the humble projects of private life, as well 
as in the ambitious and proud purfuits of high 
flations, great abilities and fuccefsful enterprize, 
in the beginning, have frequently encouraged to 
undertakings which neceftarily led to bankruptcy 
and ruin in the end. 

The efteem and admiration which every impar- 
tial fpectator conceives for the real merit of thofe 
fpirited, magnanimous, and high-minded perfons, 
as it is a juft and-well founded fentiment, ib it is 

a fleady 



442 SELF-COMMAND. [PART IIT. 

a fteady and permanent one, and altogether inde- 
pendent of their good or bad fortune. It is 
otherwife with that admiration which he is apt to 
conceive for their exceffive felf-eftimation and 
prefnmption. While they are fuccefsful, indeed, 
he is often perfectly conquered and overborne by 
them. Succefs covers from his eyes, not only 
the great imprudence, but frequently the great 
injufrice of their enterprifes ; and, far from blam- 
ing this defective part of their character, £e 
often views it with the moft enthuliaitic admira- 
tion. When they are unfortunate, however, 
things change their colours and theij names. 
What was before heroic magnanimity, relumes its 
proper appellation of extravagant rafhnefs and 
folly ; and the blacknels of that avidity and in- 
juftice, which was before hid under the iplendour 
cf prosperity, comes full into view, and blots the 
whole luftre of their enterprife. Had Caefar, in- 
stead of gaining, loft the battle of Pharfalia, his 
character would, at this hour, have ranked a little 
above that of Catiline, and the weakeft man 
would have viewed his enterprife againft the laws 
of his country in blacker colours, than, perhaps, 
even Cato, with all the animohty of a party-man, 
ever viewed it at the time. His real merit, the 
jullneis of his tafte, the hmplicity and elegance 
of hia writing-, the propriety of his eloquence, 
his ikill in war, his relburces in diftrefs, his cool 
OK) iedate judgment in danger, his faithful at- 
tachment: 



TAUT III,] SELF-COMMAND. 413 

tachinent to his friend*, his unexampled gene- 
rality to his enemies, would all have been ac- 
knowledged ; as the real merit of Catiline, who 
had many great qualities is acknowledged at this 
day. But the iniblence and injuftice of his all*- 
grafping ambition would have darkened and ex- 
tinguished the glory of all that real merit. For- 
tune has in this, as well as in fome other refpecls 
already mentioned, great influence over the mo- 
ral fentiments of mankind, and, according as fhe 
is either favourable or adverfe, can render the 
fame character the object, either of general love 
and admiration, or of univerfal hatred and con- 
tempt. This great diforder in our moral fenti- 
ments is by no means, however, without its 
utility ; and we may on this, as well as on many 
other occalions, admire the wifdom of God even 
in the weaknefs and folly of man. Our admira- 
tion of fuccefs is founded upon the lame princi- 
ple with our refpect for wealth and greatnefs, and 
is equally neceflary for eftablifhing the diflinction 
of ranks and the order of fociety. By this admi- 
ration of fuccefs we are taught to fubmit more 
eafily to thofe fuperiors, whom the courfe of hu- 
man affairs may aflign to us ; to regard with re- 
verence, and fometimes even with a fort of re- 
fpectful affection, that fortunate violence which 
we are no longer capable of refifting ; not only 
the violence of fuch fplendid characters as thofe 
of a Caefar or an Alexander, but often that of 

the 



444 SELF-COMMAND. [PART III. 

the moft brutal and favage barbarians, of an 
Attila, a Gengis, or a Tamerlane. To all fuch 
mighty conquerers the .reat mob of mankind 
are naturally difpofed to look up with a wonder- 
ing, thought, no doubt, with a very weal: and 
foolifh admiration. By this admiration, however, 
they are taught to acquiefce with lefs reluccance 
under that government which an irrefutable force 
impoies upon them, and from which no reluct- 
ance could deliver them. 

Though in profpcrity, however, the man of 
cxceflive felf-eftimation may fometimes 2ppear to 
have fome advantage over the man of correct and 
modelt virtue ; though the applaufe of the mul- 
titude, and of thofe who fee them bo^h only at 
a diftance, is often much louder in favour of the 
one than it ever is in fnvcur of the other; yet, 
all things fairly computed, the real balance of ad- 
vantage is, perhaps in all cafes, greatly in favour 
of the latter, and againit the former. The man 
who neither alcribes to himfelf, nor wilhes that 
other people mould alciibe to him. any other 
merit beiides that which really belongs to him, 
fears no humiliation, dreads no detection ; but 
re its contented and lecure upon the genuine truth 
and folidity of his own character. His admirersmay 
neither be very numerous nor very loud in their 
applaufes ; but the wifeit man who lees him the 
neareft and who knows hun the belt, admires him 
the molt. To a real wife man the judicious and 

well- 



PART III.] SELF-COMMA Nt). 445 

well-weighed approbation of a fingle wife man, 
gives more heartfelt fatisfaction than all the nbify 
applaufes often thoufand ignorant though enthti- 
fiaftic admirers. He may fay with Parmenides, 
who, upon reading a philofophical difcourfe be- 
fore a public affembly at Athens, and obferv- 
ing, that, except Plato, the whole company 
had left him, continued, notwithstanding, to 
read on, and faid that Plato alone was audience 
fufflcient for him. 

It is otherwife with the man of exceffive felf- 
eftimation. The wife men who fee him the 
nearer!:, admire him the leaft. Amid ft the intoxi- 
cation of profperity, their fober and juft efteem 
falls fo far fhort of the extravagance of his own 
felf-admiration, that he regards it as mere ma- 
lignity and envy. He fufpecls his beft friends. 
Their company becomes ofrenfive to him. He 
drives them from his prefence, and often rewards 
their fervices not only with ingratitude, but with 
cruelty and injuftice. He abandons his confi- 
dence to flatterers and traitors, who pretend to 
idolize his vanity and prefumption ; and that 
character which in the beginning, though in 
fome ! refpects defective, was, upon the whole, 
both amiable and refpectable, becomes contemp- 
tible and odious in the end. Amidfl the intoxi- 
cation of profperity, Alexander killed Clytus, for 
having preferred the exploits of his father Philip 
to his own ; put Califthenes to death in torture, 

fo* 



446 SfcLF-COMMAND. [PART lilt 

for having refufed to adore him in the Periian 
manner ; and murdered the great friend of his 
father, the venerable Parmenio, after having, up- 
on the moft groundlefs fuipicions, fent firft to the 
torture and afterwards to the fcaffold the only re- 
maining fon of that old man, the reft having all 
before died in his own fervice. This was that 
Parmenio of whom Philip ufed to fay, that the 
Athenians were very fortunate who could find 
ten generals every year, 'while he himfelf, in the 
whole courfe of his life, could never find one 
but Parmenio. It was upon the vigilance and at- 
tention of this Parmenio that he repofed at all 
times with confidence and fecurity, and, in his 
hours of mirth and jollity, ufed to fay, Let us 
drink, my friends, wc may do it with fafety. for 
Parmenio never drinks. It was this fame Parme- 
nio, with whofe pretence and counlel, it had 
been faid, Alexander had gained all his victories ; 
and without whofe pretence and counfel he had 
never gained a tingle victory. The humble, ad- 
miring, and liattering friends, whom Alexander 
left in power and authority behind him, divided 
his empire among themfelves, and after having 
thus robbed his family and kindred of their 
inheritance, put, one after another, every tingle 
iurviving individual of them, whether male or fe- 
male, to death. 

We frequently not only pardon, but thorov. 
enter into and fympathize with the exceilive felf- 

eftimati$n 



PART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 447 

eftimation of thofe fplendid characters in which 
we obferve a great and diftinguifhed fuperiority 
above the common level of mankind. We call 
them fpirited, magnanimous and high-minded ; 
which all involve in their meaning a considerable 
degree of praife and admiration. But we cannot 
enter i:\to and fyrnpathize with the exceffive felf- 
eftimation of thole characters in which we can dif- 
cern no fuch diftinguifhed fuperiority. We are 
difgufted and revolted by it ; and it is with fome 
difficulty that we can either pardon or fuffer it. 
We call it pride or vanity ; two words, of which 
the latter always, and the former for the moft part, 
involve in their meaning a confiderable degree of 
blame. 

Thofe two vices, however, though refembling, 
in fome refpects, as being both modifications of 
exceffive felf-eftimation, are yet, in many re- 
fpects, very different from one another. 

The proud man is lincere, and in the bottom 
of his heart, is convinced of his own fuperiority ; 
though it may fometimes be difficult to guefs 
upon what that conviction is founded. He 
wifhes you to view him in no other light than 
that in which, when he places hlmfelf in your 
fituation, he really views himfelf. He dero: 
no more of you than what he thinks juftTce. if 
you appear not to refpect him as he refpects him- 
felf, he is more offended than mortified, and feels 
the fame indignant refentment as if he had fuf- 

fefcd 



443 SELF-COMMAND. [PART, lit. 

fered a real injury. He does not even then, how- 
ever, deign to explain the grounds of his own 
pretentions. He difdains to court your efteem. 
He affects even to defpife it, and endeavours to 
maintain his aflumed Hation, not io much by mak- 
ing you fenfible of his fuperiority, as of your own 
meannefs. He feems to wifh, not fo much to ex- 
cite your efteem for hiwjelf, as to mortify that for 
your/elf. 

The vain man is not fmcere, and in the bottom 
of his heart, is very feldom convinced of that fu- 
periority which lie wifhes you to afcribe to him. 
He willies you to view him in much more lplendid 
colours than thofe in which, when he places himfelf 
in your fituation, and fuppofes you to know all 
that he knows, he can really view himfelf. "When 
you appear to view him, therefore, in different 
colours, perhaps in his proper colours, he is much 
more mortified than offended. The grounds of 
his claim to that character which he willies you 
to afcribe to him, he takes every opportunity of 
difplaying, both, by the moll often tatious and un- 
necessary exhibition of the good qualities and ac- 
complifhments which he poiieffes in fome deg] 
and fometimes even by fa lie pretentions to thofe 
which he cither pofiefles in no degree, or in fo 
very flendi : ee that he may well enough be 

laid to r y in no degree. Far from de- 

fpifing your eileem, he courts it with the mod an- 
xious affiduity. Far from wilhing to mofl 

your- 



$>ART III.} SELF-COMMAND. 449 

felf-eftimation, he is happy to cherifh it, in hopes 
that in return you will cherifh his own. He flat- 
ters in order to be flattered. He fhidiestopleafe, 
and endeavours to bribe you into a good opinion 
of him by politenefs and complaifance, and ibme- 
times even by real and effential good offices though 
often difplayed, perhaps, with unneceffary often- 
tation. 

The vain man fees the refpeci which is paid to 
rank and fortune, and wifhes to ufurp this refpect, 
as well as that for talents and virtues. His drefs 
his equipage, his way of living, accordingly, all 
announce both a higher rank and a greater for- 
tune than really belong to him ; and in order 
to fupport this foolifh impofition for a few years 
in the beginning of his life, he often reduces him- 
felf to poverty and diftrefs long before the end of 
it. As long as he can continue his expence, how- 
ever, his vanity is delighted with viewing hirnfelf, 
not in the light in which you wouid view him 
if you knew all that he knows ; but in that in 
which, he imagines, he has, by his own addrefs, 
induced you actually to view him. Of the 
illufions of vanity this is, perhaps the moft 
common. Obfcure ftrangers who vifit foreign 
countries, or who, from a remote province, 
come to vifit, for a fhort time, the capital of 
their own country, molt frequently attempt 
to practife it. The folly of the attempt, 
G g though 



450 SELF*COM*fAND. [l'AltT Til. 

though always very great and moft unworthy 
a of man of fenfe, may not be altogether fo 
great upon fuch as upon moft other occaii- 
ons. If their ftay is fhort, they may ef- 
cape any difgraceful detection ; and, after indulg- 
ing their vanity for a few months, or a few years, 
they may return to their own homes, and re- 
pair, by future parfimony, the wafte of their pro- 
fufion. 

The proud man cnn very feldom be accufed of 
this folly. His fenfc of his own dignity renders 
him careful to preferve his independence, and, 
v,hen his fortune happens not be large, though he 
willies to be decent, he ftudies to be frugal and 
attentive in all expenccs. The oftentatious ex- 
pence of the vain man is highly offenfive to him. 
It outfhines, perhaps, his own. It provokes his 
indignation as an infolent affumption of a rank 
which is by no means due ; and he never talks of 
it without loading it with the harfheft and feyercft 
reproaches. 

The proud man does not always feel himfelf at his 
eafe in the company of his equals, and ftill lefs in 
that of his lupcrior*. He cannot lay down his lofty 
preteniions, andthecountenanccand converlation of 
f. ich company overawe him fo much that he & 
not dilplay them. He has recourfe to humbler 
company, for which he has little refpedl, which 
he would not willingly chufe, and which is by no 

mam- 



PART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 451 

means agreeable to him; that of his inferiors, his 
flatterers, and dependants. He leldom wiitshis 
fuperiors, or, if he does, it is rather to mow that 
he is entitled to live in fitch company, than for any 
real fatisfaction that he enjoys in it. It is, as Lord 
Clarendon fays of the Earl of Arundel, that he 
fometinies when to court, becaufe he could tl ere 
only find a greater man than hiinfclf ; but that he 
went very leldom, becaufe he found there a greater 
man than himfelf. 

It is quite otherwife with the vain man. He 
courts the company of his fuperiors as much as 
the proud man fhuns it. Their fplendour, he 
feems to think, reflects afplendour upon thofe who 
are much about them. He haunts the courts of 
kings and the levees of minifters, and gives him- 
felf the air of being a candidate for fortune and 
preferment, when in reality he pofTefTes the much 
more precious happinefs, if he knew how to enjoy 
it, of not being one. He is fond of being 'admit-' 
ted to the tables of the great, and ftill more fond 
of magnifying to other people the familiarity with 
which he is honoured there. He affociates himfelf* 
as much as he can, with fafhionable people, 
with thofe who are fuppofed to direct the public 
opinion, with the witty, with the learned, with the 
popular ; he (huns the company of his beft friends 
whenever the very uncertain current of public fa- 
vour happens to run in any refpect againft them. 
With the people to whom he wiflies to recom- 
Gg'i mend 



245 SELF-COMMAND. [PART III, 

mend himfelf, he is not always very delicate about 
the means whichhe employs for that purpofe ; unne- 
cessary orientation, groundlefs pretentions, conftant 
aflentation, frequent flattery, for the moil part 
a pleafant and a fprightly flattery, and very lelclom 
the grofs and fulfome flattery of a parafite. The 
proud man, on the contrary, never flatters, and is 
frequently fcarcely civil to any body. 

Notwithstanding all its groundlefs pretentions, 
however, vanity is aim oil: always a fprightly and a 
gay, and very often a good natured pallion. Pride is 
always a grave, a fallen, and a fevere one. Even the 
falfehoods of the vain man are all innocent falie- 
hoods, meant to raife himfelf, not to lower other 
people. To do the proud man jufticc, he very kl- 
domfloops to the baieneisof falfchood. When he 
does, however, his falfehoods are by no means fo 
innocent. They are all mifchievous, and meant 
to lower other people. lie is full of indignation 
at the un jultiiiperiority, as he thinks it. which is 
given to them. He views them with malignity 
ami envy, and, in talking of them, often end 
vours, as much as lie can, to extenuate and leflen 
whatever are the grounds upon which their fupe- 
riority is luppoted to be founded. Whatever t 
are circulated to their disadvantage, though he 
feluom forges them himfelf, yet lie often tak 
fare in believing them, is by no means unwii. 
to lepeat them, and even fometimes with 1 
degiee of exaggeration. The worft falfehoods of 



PART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 453 

vanity are all what we call white lies : thofe of 
pride, whenever it condescends to falfehood, are all 
of the oppofite complexion. 

Our diflike to pride and vanity generally dif- 
poies us to rank the perfons whom we accufe of 
thofe vices rather below than above the common 
level. In this judgment, however, I think, we 
are moil frequently in the wrong, and that both 
the proud and the vain man are often (perhaps for 
the moft part) a good deal above it ; though not 
near fomuch as either the one really thinks him- 
felf, or as the other wifhes you to think him. If 
we compare them with their own pretentions, they 
may appear the juft objects of contempt. But 
when we compare them with what the greater 
part of their rivals and competitors really are, they 
may appear quite otherwife, and very much above 
the common level. Where there is this real 
fuperiority, pride is frequently attended with many 
refpectable virtues ; with truth, with integrity with 
a high fenfe of honour, with cordial and fteady 
friendfhip, with the moft inflexible tirmnefs and 
refolution. Vanity, with many amiable ones ; with 
humanity, with politenefs, with a defire to oblige 
in all little matters, and fometimes with a real ge- 
nerotity in great ones ; a generotity, how- 
ever, which it often wifhes to difpay in the 
moft fplendid colours that it can. By their 
rivals and enemies, the French, in the laft ccn- 
G g 3 tury 



454 SELF-COMMAND. [PART III. 

tury, were accufed of vanity ; the Spaniards of 
pride ; and foreign nations were difpofed to con- 
fider the one as the more amiable ; the other, as 
the more refpeclable people. 

The words vain and vanity are never taken in 
a good fenfe. We fometimes fay of a man, when 
we are talking of him in good -hum our, that he 
is the better far his vanity, or that his vanity is 
more diverting than orFenfive ; but we ftill con- 
sider it as a foible and a ridicule in his character. 

The words frond and jr/Je, on the contrary, 
are fometimes taken in a good fenfe. We fre- 
o,u -r.tly lay of a man, that he is two proud, or that 
he has too much noble pnde, ever to fufter him- 
felf to do a mean thing. Pride is, in this c^e 9 
confounded with magnanimity. Anftotle, a | 
lofopher who certainly knew the world, in di 
lAg the cfej n &er of the magnanimous man, 
him with many features which, in the two hit cen- 
turies, were commonly aicribed to the Spanifh cha- 
racter • that he was deliberate in all his refoluti 
was flow, even tardy, in all his actions 5 that Lis 
voice was grave, his ch deliberate, 

his itep and motion flow, and that he ap- 
peared indolent and even ilothful, not at ail 
pofed to buttle about little matters, but to act 
with the mo ft determined and vigorous reiolation 
upon all great and illuftrious occafions ; that he 
was not a lover of danger, or forward to ex- 
poie himielf to little dangers, but to great dang 



PART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 455 

and that when he expofed himfelf to danger, he 
was altogether regardlefs of his life. 

The proud man is commonly too well contented 
with himfelf to think that his character requires 
any amendment. The man who feels himfelf all- 
perfedt, naturally enough delpifes all further im- 
provement. His ielf-iurRciency and abfurd con- 
ceit of his own fuperiority, commonly attend him 
from his youth to his molt advanced age ; and he 
dies, as Hamlet fays, with all his fins upon his 
head, unanointed, unanealed. 

It is frequently quite otherwife with the vain 
man. The defire of the efteem and admiration of 
other people, when for qualities and talents which 
are the naturaland proper objects of efieem and 
admiration, is the real love of true glory ; a paffion 
which, if not the very bell paffion of human na- 
ture, is certainly one of the bed. Yanity is very 
frequently no more than an attempt prematurely 
to ufurp that glory before it is due. Though 
your fon, under five and twenty years of age, 
fhould be but a coxcomb ; do not, upon that ac- 
count, defpair of his becoming, before he is forty, 
a very wife and worthy man, and a real proficient 
in all thofe talents and virtues to which, at prefent, 
he may only be an orientations and empty pre- 
tender. The great fecret of education is to direct 
vanity to proper objedts. Never fuffer him to 
value himfelf upon trivial accomplifhments. But 
do not always difcourage his pretentions to thofe 

Gg4 that 



456 SELF-COMMAND. [PART III. 

that are of real importance. He would not pre- 
tend to them if he did not earneftly defire to 
poffefs them. Encourage this deiire ; afford him 
every means to facilitate the acquiiltion ; and do 
not take too much offence, although he ihould 
fometimes alTume the air of having attained it a 
little before the time. 

Such, I fay, arc the diftinguifhing charactcriftics 
of pride and vanity. each of them acls ac- 

cording to its proper character. But the proud 
man is often vain; and the vain man is often 
proud- Nothing can be more natural than that 
the man, who thinks much more highlv of himfelf 
than he deferves, fhould with that other people 
ihould think lull more highly 01 him :or that the 
man who wifhes that other people ihould think 
more highly of him than lie thinks of himfelf, 
ihould, at the fa -. think much more highly 

of himfelf than he deferves. Thofe two via s be- 
ing frequently blended in the I *er, the 
charactcriftics of both are m 
and we fometimes find the fuperficial and imp 
tinent orientation of vanity join 
lignant and derifive infolence 
fometimes, upon that account. - : 
rank a particular character, or i 
among the proud or among the vain. 

Men of merit conliderably above the comi I 
level, fometimes under-rate as well as over-: 
themfelves. Such characters, though not veiv 



PART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 457 

dignified, are often, in private fociety, far from 
being diiagreeable. His companions all feel 
themfclves much at their eafe in the fociety of a 
man io perfectly modeft and unaflfuming. If 
thofe companions, however, have not both more 
difcernment and more generofity than ordinary, 
though they may have fome kindnefs for him, 
they have feldom much refpecl ; and the warmth 
of their kindnefs is very feldom fufficient to com- 
penfate the coldnefs of their refpecl. Men of no 
more than ordinary difcernment never rate any 
peribn higher than he appears to rate himfelf. He 
feems doubtful himfelf, they fay, whether he is 
perfectly fit for fuch actuation or fuch an office ; 
and immediately give the preference to fome im- 
pudent blockhead who entertains no doubt about 
his own qualifications. Though they fhould 
have difcernment, yet, if they want generofity, 
they never fail to take advantage of his fimplicity. 
and to affiime over him an impertinent fuperiorjty 
which they are by no means entitled to. His 
good-nature may enable him to bear this for fome 
time ; but he grows weary at lad, and frequently 
when it is too late, and when that rank, which he 
ought to have affirmed, is loft irrecoverably, and 
ufurped, in confequence of his own backward nefs, 
by fome of his more forward, though much lefs 
meritorious companions. A man of this cha-* 
racier muft have been very fortunate in the early 
choice of his companions, if, in going through 

the 



45S 



SELF-COMMAND, 



[PART in. 

the world, he meets always with fair juftice, even 
from thofe whom, from his own pall kindnefs, 
he might have fome reafon to conlider as his beft 
friends ; and a youth, too unarTuming and too 
unambitious, is frequently followed by an iniigni- 
ficant, complaining, and difcontented old age. 

Thofe unfortunate perfons whom nature has 
formed a good deal below the common level, 
feem fometimes to rate themfelves ft ill more be- 
low it than they really are. 7 his humility appears 
fometimes to fink them into idiotifm. " Whoever 
has taken the trouble to examine idiots with atten- 
tion, will find tii^r, in many of them, the facul- 
ties of the understanding are by no means weaker 
than in fcveral other people, who, though ac- 
knowledged to be dull and ilupid, are not, by any 
body, accounted idiots. Many idiots, with no 
more than ordinary education, have been taught to 
read, write, and account tolerably well. Many 
perfons, never accounted idiots, notwithstanding 
the moil careful education, and notwithstanding 
that, in their advanced age, they have had fpirit 
enough to attempt to learn what their early edu- 
cation had not taught them, have never been able 
to acquire in any tolerable degree, any one of thole 
three accompliihments. By an inltincl of pride* 
however, they let themfclves upon a level with their 
equals in age and iituation ; and, with courage 
and firmnels, maintain their proper nation among 
their companions. By an opponte inrtmcl, the 

idiot 



PART III.] SELF-COMMAND, 4^9 

idiot feels himfelf below every company into 
which you cnn introduce him. Ill-ufage, to which 
he ib extremely liable, is capable of throwing 
him into the moft violent fits of rage and fury. 
But no good ufage, no kindnefs or indulgence, 
can ever raife him to converfe with you as your 
equal. If you can bring him to converfe with 
you at all, however, you will frequently find his 
anfwers fufficiently pertinent, and even fenfible. 
But they are always ftamped with a diftincl: con- 
fciouf nefs of his own great inferiority. He feems 
io fhrink, and, as it were, to retire from your look 
and converfation ; and to feel, when he places 
himfelf in your fituation, that, notwithstanding 
your .apparent condefcenfion, you cannot help 
confidering him as immensely below you. Some 
idiots, perhaps the greater part, feem to be fo, 
chiefly or altogether, from a certain numbnefs or 
torpidity in the faculties of the underftanding. 
But there are others, in whom thofe faculties do 
not appear more torpid or benumbed than in 
many other people who are not accounted idiots. 
But that inftincl: of pride, necefTary to fupport 
them upon an equality with their brethren, feems 
totally wanting in the former and not in the latter. 
That degree of felf-eftimation, therefore, 
which contributes moft to the happinefs and 
contentment of the perfon himfelf, feems like- 
wile moft agreeable to the impartial fpeclator. 
The man who efteems himfelf as he ought, and 

no 



460 



SELF-COMMAND, 



[part lit* 

no more than he ought, fcldom fails to obtain 
from other people all the efteem that he him- 
felf thinks due. He defires no more than is 
due to him, and he refts upon it with complete 
fatisfaction. 

The proud and the vain man, on the contrary, 
are constantly dilTaisfied. The one is tormented 
with indignation at the unjuft fuperiority, as he 
thinks it. of other people. The other is in con- 
tinual dread of the fharne which, he forcfees, 
would attend upon the detection of his ground- 
lefs pretenfions. Even the extravagant preten- 
fions of the man of real magnanimity, though, 
when lupported by fpler. Hd abilities and virtues, 
and, i3bove all, by good fortune, they impofe 
upon the multitude, whofe applaofes he little re- 
gards, do not impofe upon thole wife men whofe 
approbation he can only value, and whofe efteem 
he is moll anxious to acquire. He feels that they 
fee through, and fufpecb that they defpife his 
exceffive preemption ; and he often furTers the 
cruel misfortune of becoming, firft the jealous 
and fecret, and at laft the open, furious, 
and vindictive enemy of thofe very perfons, 
whofe friendfhip it would have given him the 
grcateft happineis to enjoy with uniufpicious 
fecurity. 

Though our diflike to the proud and the vain 
often difpofes us to rank them rather below than 
above their proper ftation, yet, unlets we are pro- 
voked 



PART III.] SELF-COMMAUD, 4(H 

voiced by fome particular and perfonal imperti- 
nence, we very feldom venture to ufe them ill # 
In common cafes, we endeavour for our cafe, 
rather to acquiefce, and, as well as we can, to ac- 
commodate ourfelves to their folly. But, to the 
man who under-rates himfelf, unlefs we have 
both more difcernment and more generofity than 
belong to the greater part of men, we feldom fail 
to do, at lead, all the injuftice which he does to 
himfelf, and frequently a great deal more. He 
is not only more unhappy in his own feelings 
than either the proud or the vain, but he is 
much more liable to every fort of ill-ufage from 
other people. In aim oft all cafes, it is better to 
be a little too proud, than, in any refpecl:, too 
humble ; and, in the fentiment of felf-eftima- 
tion, fome degree of excels feems, both to the 
perfon himfelf and to the impartial fpectator, to 
be lefs difagreeable than any degree of defect. 

In this, therefore, as well as in every other 
emotion, paffion, and habit, the degree that, is 
mod agreeable to the impartial fpedlator is like- 
wife mofl agreeable to the perfon himfelf ; and 
according as either the excels or the defect is 
leaf! offenfive to the former, fo, either the one 
or the other is in proportion leaft difagreeable to 
the latter. 



r CONCLUSION. 



C 402 ) 



CONCLUSION. 

IT has been my aim, in the foregoing fyftem 
of the paffions, to juftify the nature of man, and 
to bring into view, as well as I could, that fub- 
lime picture of it, which, the more I contemplate 
its origin, appears to me to have been the work 
of a Being, in whom my mind adores the attri- 
butes of a God. 

I fee a creature formed with a fuperior perfonal 
beauty ; endowed with the defire of excellence ; 
with an eagernefs for knowledge ; and gifted with 
the delights of wonder, love, and joy : a pure, a 
happy creature, worthy the fiat from which he 
fprung. 

I ice this creature milconceiving excellence; con- 
tent with ignorance, or purfuing folly ; his wonder 
funk into ftupid aftonifhment ; his love loft in 
felfifhnefs : and his joys bounded by his fenfes : 
a corrupt, a miferable being, that never could 
have originally fo fallen from his Creator. 

Which is the nature of this creature ? 

It came not within the fcope of my plan to in- 
veftigate the reaibn, why corruption has been 
permitted : but I have endeavoured to (hew the 
origin of our nature to be good ; and to point 



*ART III.3 CONCLUSION. . 4fi3 

out where commence the deviations that diverge 
to that corruption. I have traced our paffions to 
fources, pure and worthy of our Creator ; I have 
marked their jiift and regular channels, e\xn in 
our prefent fubje&ion to evil ; and have brought 
directly into view, the unnatural and deplorable 
courfes into which they have burft. 

The name of Nature has been exceedingly 
abuied, and we have been accuftomed to impute 
to her much that belongs to vice. In this ele- 
mental enquiry irie has been reftored to her purity ; 
and it has appeared that the perfection of every 
thing is its nature. 

But where is this perfect man ? Does he exift ? 
Did he ever exift ? — There are not wanting both 
in facred and profane hiftory, inftances of thofe 
who have exalted themfelves to the perfection of 
their nature ; and many excellent men do honour 
to the world even at this day. Yet in juftifying 
the dignity of our race, I pretend not to fay that 
its radiance is not deeply obfcured by furrounding 
clouds ; or that we can catch daily glimpfes of 
that eminence from which it has too furely fallen. 
Selfifhnefs and malevolence prey upon the de- 
graded heart of man ; and the emotions of his 
mind have been influenced into a combination 
with the animal appetites, to fweep him from his 
ftation. In the very blood of his parents lurk the 
feeds of his maladies and of his vices ; and from 



the 



by? 



464 CONCLUSION, [PART III. 

the ignorance and folly of his firft attendants are 
caught his prejudices and his habits. To attain, 
or to recover his perfection ; to be the creature 
God created him ; and to pofTefs that genuine 
liappinefs which is the refult of Self-knowledge 
and, of Self-command, is worthy of a flruggle ; 
and he is moll likely to be fuccefsful, who 
meditates upon his nature, inveftigates his paf- 
fions, and becomes thoroughly acquainted wkh 
himfelf. 



THE END, 






S. Rousseau, Printer, 

Wood Sir at t Sj>j fie/a 






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